


So Long as the Night is Dark

by Seldarius



Series: Freudian Slip Series [2]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-10-04 04:53:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17298149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: After managing the first hurdles of their blooming love affair, Phryne and Jack begin to explore their darker passions - not always with the expected results.





	1. Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> This is technically a loose continuation of "Sometimes a Couch is Just a Couch"... Also thanks to Hismissus for detailed discussions about sex plots in places where you shouldn't discuss sex plots, to Just_J for her encouragement and to Firesign23 for finding a title (and Preux for lending a musing hand).

It was late and the party in full swing, quite literally. Colourful dresses and black suits swept past him as well-bred ladies and their darkly clad partners moved their limbs in a complicated pattern which had little in common with the waltz he had been taught by his mother many years ago. A masked ball appeared to call for something more sophisticated, Inspector Robinson caught himself thinking grimly. He fished the fifth glass of champagne from a passing maiden’s tray and restrained himself from swallowing the bubbly liquid in a single gulp. The wine had already begun to rise to Jack’s head and he could not possibly afford to show himself drunk in this company.

Miss Fisher had disappeared more than 20 minutes ago on the arm of the exceedingly handsome James Finch who she suspected to have murdered his business partner. If that had tempted her or the fact that he was an accomplished dancer was anybody’s guess. Her red frock appeared somewhere on the opposite end of the dance floor, her head thrown back in laughter. Jack lost his battle against temptation and drained his glass. The black mask was pressing uncomfortably on the bridge of his nose and he, once again, resisted the urge to rip it off his face and end the whole charade.

When Phryne had invited him along to Mrs Stanley’s fund raiser masquerade ball two days ago, he had rather hoped it to be another rendezvous, designed to deepen their blossoming love affair. As it turned out, Phryne Fisher was always good for a surprise. Another tray swept past. This time Jack managed to get a hold of a tumbler he hoped was filled with whisky. He took a first gulp without tearing his eyes from the red silk. Apparently she had moved on from Finch to somebody else. The music had now mellowed into a foxtrot, which meant the man’s hand was firmly placed on Phryne’s back. The fool was wearing a golden mask of all things. She threw a flirtatious look over her shoulder as if she could feel his eyes on her. A cheeky smile appeared on her red lips, which he couldn’t help but return. Another glass. Flashes of green, blue and black swept past, causing him to lose sight of the moving couple. Jack inspected his watch. Almost eleven.

A hand touched his arm.

“You are not drinking alone, Jack?” an exhilarated, breathless Miss Fisher asked right by his ear. Her proximity sent a shiver down his spine. He turned. The red silk of her dress shimmered decadently, falling around her curves in just the right way to take a man’s breath away. Golden applications mirrored the colour of the mask covering her eyes.

“As I have been abandoned by my companion, I had no other choice, Miss Fisher,” the Inspector said dryly.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Jack,” she simpered, sipping on her champagne glass. “There are plenty of gorgeous women in this room who would very much enjoy your company.”

Her eyes slid down his body as she spoke and he felt a blooming flush on his cheeks, for the first time glad for the protection of his mask.

“Especially Sofia Morelle seems to have taken a keen interest in you. I rather think she hopes to be introduced later on.”

Jack didn’t answer. Phryne’s eyes glittered in acknowledgement of having embarrassed him.

“She is an old friend from London,” she smiled, looking at him over the rim of her glass. “And an exceedingly clever woman. A writer and great adventurer.”

For a moment he felt as if she was contemplating to reveal a secret, but instead she just looked at him from underneath her lashes with an expression that weakened his knees. He cleared his throat.

“Did your dance with Mr Finch reveal anything of interest?” he changed the subject, once he had composed himself.

“He was not particularly forthcoming,” she said, shrugging slightly. “But I happened to acquire this key from him.”

She dangled a small, silvery item in front of the Inspector for the briefest of moments before slipping it into her bag. Jack rolled his eyes.

“I will not ask how you have come into the possession of said item. If only to protect my sanity.”

Phryne smirked at this, sweeping her eyes over the dance floor where an oblivious Finch had moved on to flirt with somebody else. The Inspector found himself wondering dimly how long he had left to finish his drink before she decided to leave and find the lock fitting the key. But to his surprise, she turned back to him, her mask sparkling in the light and gave him her sweetest smile.

“Would you care to dance, Jack?”

Her voice held so much promise that he could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise. As if she had asked him to sneak upstairs rather than join the hot, sweaty couples on the dance floor. He took a deep gulp of whisky to clear his suddenly dry throat.

“Come, Jack,” she said, misunderstanding his hesitance. “They are playing a waltz.”

With that she grasped his hand and he had just enough time to dispose of the empty glass before he was forcefully dragged onto the floor. Before he knew it he was wrapped in her embrace and had joined the crowd of dancers, the music flowing along his spine, moving his feet without thought. He didn’t come up for breath as they spun in circles under the stars engraved into the ceiling. At the side stood Prudence Stanley in conversation with an old family friend, watching the party in unconcealed smugness. She obviously thought the evening a great success.

Jack wouldn’t have argued with that. The alcohol was by now fogging his senses and all he could see were Phryne’s blue eyes, looking at him as they swayed and spun, their feet flowing together in total harmony. Another couple brushed past them, barely avoiding a collision. He pulled Phryne closer, the scent of her perfume and her proximity adding to the haze surrounding his brain. His hand had long since slipped from Miss Fisher’s shoulder blade and come to rest in her lower back, her breasts pressed against his chest in an embrace so tight it appeared to set off fireworks in his entire body.

“If your hand moves any lower, Aunt Prudence’s party might become the talk of the town,” Phryne whispered, her breath brushing over his heated skin. “A risk I am willing to take,” she added with a cheeky smile. Jack licked his dry lips and wondered if to express his wish to leave for the privacy of her bedroom _right now_. Knowing Miss Fisher, she may have taken it as an invitation to torture him further than the heat bleeding through her dress was already accomplishing.

The appearance of a grey head of hair, seemingly out of nowhere, ended his contemplation.

“Inspector?”

Jack snapped from his trance. Mrs Stanley’s butler, an elderly man whose name he could not remember, looked calmly up at him.

“There is an urgent telephone call for you.”

The Inspector barely suppressed a curse.

“Excuse me, please,” he begged of Miss Fisher. To his surprise, she did not insist on accompanying him.

The short walk over the terrace to the house cooled his heated flesh a little and helped to sort his thoughts. An urgent telephone call could only mean one thing. Jack felt no desire to deal with a murder tonight. With a start he realised that he wanted nothing more than to dance the night away with Phryne and if the slightest invitation should be uttered, follow her home into her very soft sheets and even softer arms. It had been mere weeks since their first passionate encounter at the Windsor Hotel, but he seemed to have already lost any ability to restrain himself. How he had ever managed to resist her was beyond him now.

His intense longing had cooled down to a gentle burn by the time he picked up the telephone in the hallway of Mrs Stanley’s house.

“Inspector Robinson speaking.”

A surprisingly bored voice answered him. Constable Jones was filling the nightshift at City South, which the Inspector knew was not his favourite pastime. His young wife also appeared little thrilled with his working late hours, which may have had something to do with the officer’s reluctance to embrace them.

“I apologize for interrupting your evening entertainment, sir,” the officer said now, not even attempting to conceal his lack of any true regret. “But Commissionar Hall insisted I immediately inform you.”

Jack’s pulse sped up.

“Has something happened, Jones?” he asked.

There was a brief pause.

“The commissioner telephoned to express that Mrs Finch’s father is a personal friend and he would like us very much to not bother herself or her husband with the murder of Mr Streeling, sir.”

Jack suppressed the curse lying on his tongue.

“He also added that he would be visiting the station tomorrow to ensure we had solid evidence if we are to continue this witch hunt. His words, not mine, sir.”

The Inspector lost his valiant battle against the use of profanities under his breath. When he rang off, fully intent on returning to the ballroom and informing Miss Fisher that they had to find the lock to her key very soon indeed, he was confronted with the butler standing behind himself. The man was holding a full tray of drinks clutched between his gloved hands, obviously on his way to the drawing room whereto the less active of Mrs Stanley’s house guests had retreated.

“Is everything in order, sir?” he asked. Jack straightened his back.

“Not exactly,” the Inspector explained grumpily. From the corner of his eye he thought he saw a hint of red silk flutter further down the hallway and in sudden resolve made an attempt at brushing past the man and his careful smile. In his alcohol addled mind he miscalculated and brought the silver tray to tumble. With a godawful crash ten glasses and two decanters hit the floor. Jack closed his eyes in embarrassment, apologies spilling from his lips along with liquid over floorboards. As he dropped to his knees to help with the clean up, he felt wetness soak through his shirtsleeves and looked down to find that he was covered in a large portion of the now empty decanter of red wine. His mood was not improving, even as the butler attempted to fight off his help and usher him away to clean himself up.

“This was not quite the form of excitement I had expected,” Phryne’s calm voice sounded from the door. Jack realised that he was still on all four and hastily pulled himself to his feet, the tray in his hands covered in pieces of broken glass. A maid passed him and relieved him off the tray, but not his mortification.

Phryne’s eyes dropped down his front yet again, sparking in him urges he had almost managed to forget.

“I’m not certain Bordeaux is quite your colour, Jack, even though it is a delicious drop.”

She licked her lips in a way that would have provoked a blush if he hadn’t already accomplished it.

“Mr Peters, would you please source some shirtsleeves that might fit the Inspector,” she asked the Butler, who had found his composure again. “He cannot return to the ballroom like this.”

“Certainly, Miss Fisher.”

Jack bit his lip, battling the almost undeniable desire to flee. Leaving would mean to surrender the hope for a night with Phryne. His body urged him to not even consider that possibility. As if she could read his mind, she took his arm and steered him towards the stairs.

“Where are we headed?” he asked as soon as they reached the landing.

“To my guest room,” she informed him with a cheeky smile. His heartbeat wouldn’t be calmed at the prospect of being alone with her in a bedroom, but she dampened his erotic thoughts the next moment, by adding: “I assumed you didn’t want to change in a hallway, Jack.”

“Not in particular,” he admitted, contemplating the dangers of kissing her while he was entirely covered in sticky wine. Before he had reached a decision on the matter they already stood in front of a door, however.

Jack found he had a hard time letting go of her. Phryne smiled at him with an expression that weakened his knees.

“You’d better get out of those wet clothes, Jack.” She ran a teasing finger down his front. “I’ll see where Mr Peters has gotten to.”

With that she slipped away and bustled down the stairs. The Inspector stood for a long moment, looking after her, then he turned with a sigh and pushed open the door. He didn’t notice the pair of eyes watching him from the shadows.

In the soft light of a floor lamp a large mirror greeted him on the wall of the familiar bedroom, stirring in him memories of long forgotten temptations and mixing with a fresh wave of embarrassment. He attempted to shuck off both, together with his dinner jacket, then loosened his bow tie. Just as he’d reached the last button of his waistcoat, he heard the door opening behind himself, the swishing of silk. He couldn’t help but smile. Miss Fisher’s dress appeared behind him in the reflection, then a blur of red was upon him as determined hands spun him, his back tumbling against the mirror. Her mouth was on his, her hot tongue urgently demanding entrance. All longing returned with force, flooding his senses. He pulled her close, clutching helplessly at the red silk as she plundered his mouth, her hands trapping him against the glass. She tasted different tonight, like champagne and heat. When she bit his lip, he drew in a surprised breath. But Jack was not in any mood to argue. He spun them, pushing her up against the wall and was about to move in for another kiss when something else struck him as odd. The mask covering the top half of Miss Fisher’s face appeared... different. He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. Where the gold had been a filigree pattern before, this one was solid and what was worse…, the eyes, while blue, were not Phryne’s. In shock he made an attempt to retreat from the arms of the strange woman, when his back met solid, warm resistance. A second set of arms caught him, embracing him from behind and trapping him where he was.

“I see you have met Sofia,” Miss Fisher said, her tone unreadable.

“I… can explain...” he ground out, but didn’t get any further. Phryne’s lips brushed his neck, causing him to throw his head back against her shoulder with a groan while Sofia’s hands continued their exploration of his body. Jack’s head was swimming with sensations and, searching for an anchor, he grasped Miss Fisher’s hand.

“Phryne?” he whispered.

“It’s all right, Jack,” his lover murmured beside his ear. “There’s no shame in just enjoying this.” Her mouth found his, their entwined hands wrapped over his stomach. Jack struggled with himself. This was debauchery. He couldn’t... But Phryne’s lips told him otherwise, full of the sweet promises of heaven. She would never allow anything bad to happen to him. Sofia’s teasing fingers crumbled the last of his resistance. Jack allowed all thought and reservations to slip away as the hands of a total stranger opened the first button of his trousers, slim fingers wrapped around his erection. He groaned into Phryne’s mouth. Miss Fisher’s second hand had slipped underneath his waistcoat, now rubbing a nipple, driving him to insanity.

In fact he feared he would lose his mind before even reaching the bed, if he wasn’t allowed to come up for air soon. Suddenly Sofia’s hand left him and when his lashes fluttered open, he realised that her attention had turned to Miss Fisher. The women were locked in a heated kiss, Sofia’s fingers curled through Phryne’s bob. For some reason the sight did nothing to calm him, nor did the two bodies pressed against his in an odd, three-way embrace. Phryne’s arm was still wrapped around him, not giving him any escape.

He caught a glimpse of his masked self in the mirror, flushed and dishevelled, lost in a whirl of scarlet silk and white arms. A bizarre theatre production as surreal as a dream.

Somewhere in his blurry mind he wondered if this was all Miss Fisher’s design, but then Sofia’s mouth was on his again, and the thoughts faded away. Her hands grasped his hips, pulling him in and a loud groan slipped over his lips as his heated skin brushed against the silk of her dress. A soft whimper of her own was muffled by his mouth.

Phryne’s palm ran over Sofia chest, seeking the buttons to undo her dress, but lingered to tease the hard nipples pressing through the fabric. Finally she succeeded. The red silk folded at the woman’s feet with a soft swish.

“You naughty thing,” Phryne breathed beside Jack’s ear. His tongue wet his dry lips when he realised what she was referring to. No camisole prevented access to Sofia’s gorgeous body. Her creamy skin was just a shade darker than Phryne’s, her breasts larger. The longer he looked the more differences he found. Jack couldn’t shake the mortification about having confused the two, but then, he had been sidetracked by a mouth claiming his and the assumption that Miss Fisher would be the only woman cheeky enough to do so. Sofia smiled a red lipped smile when she felt his eyes roaming her curves.

In sudden brevity, Jack pulled her close, hungrily licking at her throat, his hands exploring her back, slipping lower. Her groan sent a shiver down his spine. Phryne’s fingers had found an agenda of their own, ridding him of his shirtsleeves, her lips returning to his neck. Within the ocean of sensations, Jack had almost missed the second set of hands fumbling with the buttons of his  suspenders. The sudden brush of cold air heightened his senses, made the hair on his neck stand up, where Phryne was tracing small bites along his shoulder. He reached up to pull her in for another kiss, detaching himself long enough from Sofia to allow her to take advantage of his now exposed collar bone. The loud moan her lips drew from him seemed to excite at least one of his companions.

“Bed,” Phryne gasped into his mouth. Nobody dared argue with her sentiment.

In a complicated, tangled dance of hands, lips and bodies they managed the few steps and crashed onto the sheets. Jack had a brief moment to contemplate the propriety of doing this in Mrs Stanley’s house of all places, then his senses threatened to fade when a hot mouth wrapped around his cock. His head had come to lie on a thigh which was still covered in silk, indicating the woman currently kneeling between his legs had to be Sofia. He managed to pry open his eyes long enough to find Phryne’s. She was looking down at him in a mixture of love and arousal, her irises almost black and he couldn’t resist the urge to reach out his hand and touch her cheek, trailing his fingertips down her neck. Her eyes fell shut as she enjoyed his attentions before his trembling fingers finally reached the spot he was looking for. The silk gave way, revealing a camisole the colour of peaches, barely hiding the treasures underneath. Her hand had again found his chest, fingertips stroking, teasing, titillating every nerve ending. Jack arched his back as a particularly skilful swirl of Sofia’s tongue took his breath away. She smiled around him and picked up speed. A nail grazed Jack’s nipple, drawing another desperate groan from him. As pleasure began to overwhelm his senses, he grasped longingly for Phryne’s hand. She pressed his sweaty palm. Her hair tickled his cheek as she leaned down to kiss him.

Sofia’s mouth was incredibly hot, her nails scratching the sensitive skin of his thighs. Jack bucked up against her with a loud groan. It was too much. Too fast. He wasn’t ready and yet the end was inevitably crashing down on him.

Suddenly slim fingers wrapped around him, squeezing hard. The orgasm, so close he could have grasped it, blurred at the edges, dissolved into blots of colour behind his lashes. Heavily breathing, Jack fell back into the pillows, groaned in a mixture of disappointment and relief. Slowly his breath evened, while Phryne peppered kisses over his face.

Then her lips were gone. Jack, bereft of their touch, felt the women shift on the bed, but for a long moment was incapable of opening his eyes. When he finally did manage, he discovered Sofia pulling Phryne’s camisole over her head and latching onto a hard nipple. Phryne threw her head back in a mixture of a moan and a giggle. The exploring tongue slipped lower, trailing a line down to her navel. Phryne’s hand played with the other woman’s hair, twirling a strain around her finger, while she gave herself to the attentions with closed eyes. Jack didn’t dare stir, just watched in breathless silence as Phryne’s fingers curled into Sofia’s dark hair and pulled her into a deep kiss, her second hand softly stroking a breast, while the other woman’s hands were exploring the curve of her back in return. There was something intensely erotic about watching the two women in their sensual embrace and his fingertips found his neglected erection. But there was something else, a faint stirring of jealousy, right in the pit of his stomach. Before thought had caught up, he was kneeling, claiming Phryne’s lips in a kiss, while his fingers lazily wrapped around Sofia’s waist.

“I apologize for not properly introducing myself,” Sofia murmured right beside his ear, “but I just had to have you.” Any answer he could have uttered drowned in lighting shooting down his spine when she nibbled his earlobe. Jack bit down on Phryne’s lip before he caught himself. Their simultaneous groan caused Sofia’s hips to jerk against him.

“You’ll have no regrets, I promise,” she added hoarsely, running her tongue down his neck.

Jack was beyond arguing. Sofia’s hand was massaging his backside, Phryne’s fingers had wrapped around him, stroking him slowly. He could already sense his lust layering up dangerously again. Panting, Jack retreated, peeled her fingers from himself and gently pushed her back into the pillows before relieving her of her last items of clothing. Sofia watched the couple with the hungry expression of a starving woman. Phryne’s eyes closed in anticipation as Jack covered her body with his and sucked a nipple between his lips. This he knew, despite being still an enthusiastic pupil of Phryne’s adventurous bedroom activities. And if he just sucked the sweet scent of her skin into his lungs and brushed his lips over her warm skin, her fingers buried in his hair, her quiet moans in his ears, he could almost pretend that there wasn’t another, tantalising hand stroking his shoulders, no nails trailing down his spine, no stranger’s leg entwined with his. Jack had never, ever imagined he would end up here, in Mrs Stanley’s disgustingly soft pillows, wedged between the hot, sweaty limbs of two women. But neither could he deny that every fibre of his body was burning with lust. If his mother could see him like this... A sudden wave of guilt and embarrassment threatened to bury him underneath it.

He glanced at Phryne, her flushed breasts heaving with arousal under Sofia’s touch and his own ministrations. She looked back at him with dark, glazed eyes. The overwhelming desire to undo her completely overrode his shame and he finally dipped his head between her legs. A loud groan answered him as she tensed against him. With strong hands he held her hips steady in order to reach all the spots he knew to unravel her, while she writhed against him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Jack saw her fingers slip between Sofia’s thighs. His hips involuntarily jerked against the sheets in reaction to a desperate moan above him, but he didn’t allow himself to let his attention drift off the task at hand.

Two sets of heavy moans grew into a beautiful symphony in his ears. Sweat was pouring down Jack’s back when Phryne’s legs finally began to tremble around him. He himself was so hard he was aching, but nevertheless determined. A last skilful swipe of his tongue and she rose of the mattress, her hand clenching into the sheets. The sight of her orgasm was Sofia’s undoing. Her cry was muffled by Phryne’s left breast as she trembled against her, both women toppling with only moments between them. Jack saw stars as a careless limb brushed his cock. He collapsed onto Phryne, drawing ragged breaths saturated with her heady scent. For what felt like an eternity, the only sound were three sets of lungs being hastily filled with air. Jack, his cheek still pressed to Phryne’s thigh, didn’t stir. He didn’t feel he could take much more, every inch of his body strained for release.

Gently hands guided him onto his back. He allowed them to without opening his eyes. Someone curled into his side, he wasn’t sure who, but he held on all the same. Another mouth approached from the other side, kissed him deeply. This one was definitely Phryne and he pulled her to himself where she came to lie half on top of him. She brushed gentle kisses along his jawline and he raised his head to give her better access. Then she slipped away and through blurry eyes he watched the women exchange a kiss above him, both still heated and flushed. Sofia’s hand had found his balls, gently caressing the tender skin. Jack bit his lip, willing her to stop but unable to bring out the words. He didn’t want to spend himself onto her hands. He wanted… He swallowed hard, wondering if he could make the request. Nothing had faded of the surreality, it only seemed to increase with every touch, every stroke and pressure. As if he would wake from a pleasurable dream at any moment in his bed, covered in a thin film of sweat and aching with frustrated desires, as he had so many times since he’d met Miss Fisher.

But it wasn’t a dream. Phryne’s hand was still lazily trailing over his body, leaving burning paths on his skin, her eyes on him with an intensity he knew so well. Sofia had intensified her attentions, driving him to the edge with determination. Jack bit his lips, dug his head into the pillow, willing himself not to fall. Then fingers again wrapped tightly around him, pulling him back. Sofia had worked her magic. He caught his breath, the stars fading in front of his eyes.

Phryne was still watching him carefully.

“Please,” he breathed, incapably of stopping himself from begging. “Please, Phryne.”

She nodded, brushed a kiss to his lips and straddled his lap without granting him any friction. Jack bucked up against her, burning to finally feel her. His fingers curled into a thigh, provoking a small moan from Sofia’s lips. Her hand had released his balls, helping to guide him instead. The sudden warmth surrounding him was so overwhelming that Jack feared he’d lose consciousness. When he opened his eyes he found Phryne on top of him, wearing nothing but her sparkling mask and watching him from underneath her lashes. Sofia followed the scene with glittering eyes. He realised that he was still holding onto her thigh and a sudden desire flashed in his mind.

He took Sofia’s hand, who made no effort to hide her surprise, and pulled her on top of himself. The last thing he saw before her thighs cut off his view of Phryne, was his lover’s astonished expression. Jack knew that he was being bold, but it seemed unfair to him that this stranger shouldn’t leave the bed entirely satisfied. Sofia stared down at him in fascinated arousal as he took the first hesitant lick. Her moan appeared to echo off the walls. She tasted different than Phryne, yet strong and intoxicating and he closed his eyes to savour her flavour and the feel of her against his tongue. While one hand wrapped around her waist to pull her closer, his other one stole further down his body, where Phryne was taking him at an achingly slow pace. She gasped in surprise as his thumb brushed against her. But suddenly it was entirely clear what he wanted. He would take them both with himself, and if it was the last thing he’d do. Phryne threatened this resolution with an artful roll of her hips only moments later. Jack held on by the skin of his teeth, his heavy moan so loud that he worried they might be discovered. He had no time to contemplate the possibility. Phryne’s arm wrapped around Sofia’s chest from behind, capturing a breast in her palm and pulling her close enough to bring the other woman’s neck in reach of her lips. Jack’s hand left the hipbone he’d been clutching onto, slipped over Sofia’s stomach and brushed Phryne’s fingers before he twisted a nipple between his fingertips. Sofia writhed helplessly between her torturers, her head thrown back against Phryne’s shoulder. Jack desperately held on, but his control was slipping fast. Phryne’s breath was picking up along with her speed. She wasn’t far, he could sense it. Sofia rocked against him, her moans coming in a quick staccato. He bucked his hips as far as the weight of two women would allow. It was this exact moment when the world came apart at the seams. The last thing he saw were Phryne’s eyes rolling up behind her mask, then her muscles clenched around him, irresistibly pulling him into the depths. Sofia bucked against his mouth one last time, almost drowning him. The cry as she unravelled echoed through his soul. Phryne was clutching onto her friend, riding the wave with closed eyes. Then white fire consumed him too, flames racing along his body, burning everything in their wake. Breathless he resurfaced as two heavy bodies collapsed on top of him.

“That was… quite something,” Sofia gasped.

Jack said nothing. He wasn’t sure if his tongue still worked. He sought out Phryne’s eyes, who seemed breathless and exhilarated, reminding him of earlier in the night. He now wondered if the woman he had watched on the dance floor had been only her. He’d rather thought she’d moved quickly from one place to another. Now she smiled at him, pressing a sweaty kiss to his lips.

“It certainly was,” she breathed, right beside his ear. They would talk later, he knew. She would want to know. He wasn’t sure if he had an answer for her.

“Dear Phryne didn’t do you any credit,” Sofia complained, her naked body pressed into his side, her head bedded on his shoulder. “I told her you would grow to enjoy this.”

Jack raised his eyebrows at his lover, who simpered.

“You _are_ a dark horse, Inspector,” she purred, snuggling into his chest. He wanted to know too. But that had time until later, Jack thought before he gave himself into the luring sleep.

When he awoke again, the noises downstairs had subsided, the bedroom was dark, a blanket spread across his naked limbs. There was still a soft body curled into his side, but the other one was missing.

“Are you awake?” he asked into the night. Phryne nodded against his chest.

“Sofia had to leave, I’m afraid,” she explained, yawning. “Her husband took her home an hour ago.”

Jack started. She obviously felt him tensing, since her fingertips ran mesmerising circles over his chest as if to sooth an unsettled animal.

“She’s a married woman?” he asked hoarsely, his throat dry, in result of things he didn’t dare to remember right now.

“Don’t worry yourself. She will tell Matthew of our adventure in detail. And he will take his own enjoyment from the tale.”

He felt Phryne smile against his skin. The Inspector wasn’t entirely certain if he understood, but he guessed nobody had been injured by their debauchery at least. For a long moment they lay in silence.

“I can’t help but wonder, Miss Fisher,” Jack finally voiced what he couldn’t shake, “did you set the trap?”

She shifted, her elbow digging into his chest as she pulled herself up to look at him. Her eyes were bright against the total darkness and he reached out to gently stroke her face. She’d taken off her mask while he’d been asleep.

“What makes you ask that?” she enquired, without any of the coyness he had expected. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, not sure if to proceed. His own mask had disappeared as well.

“It seems an obvious suspicion,” Jack explained weakly. “The dress...”

She silenced him with a finger to his lips.

“Coincidence, Jack.”

He sensed the truthfulness of her statement and decided not to dig deeper.

“I hadn’t seen her much in recent years, but of course I had to congratulate her on her excellent taste,” Phryne said. The Inspector grinned to himself. Miss Fisher may just have been the only woman in the world who thought meeting a similar dress in a ballroom was amusing rather than an insult.

“She was rather taken with my companion though and proposed a little menage a trois.”

“An obvious conclusion watching a stranger across the dance floor,” Jack interrupted her, dryly.

She simpered against his chest, her fingertips still trailing lazy circle over his skin.

“We may have experimented in the past. I will admit I am not opposed to her skills and find it can be an exhilarating experience. Particularly for the man involved.”

Jack wasn’t sure what to say or feel. But there was a small part of him which was miffed Miss Fisher had played him.

“So naturally you bartered me away like a cow at the market?” he asked.

“ _Naturally_ , Jack, I refused in the assumption that you would not care to be involved in such immoral behaviour. Of course, I was entirely mistaken.”

There was a colouring to her voice that surprised him even more than her confession. His ruffled feathers settled. He rolled onto his side to face her, stroked her naked shoulder. The feel of her soft skin underneath his fingertips was still as calming and exciting as at the very first touch.

“I don’t believe I would have accepted in sober mind,” he admitted after a pause. “But I fear the arms of two beautiful women were too compelling, Miss Fisher. I was in the middle of it before I knew what I was doing.”

His heart sank as he felt her retreat from him. He wanted to explain, but she gave him no chance.

“Do you mean to say... Sofia did not speak to you?” she asked, audibly appalled.

“Speaking was not high on her list of priorities,” Jack admitted quietly. “And her attire added considerably to my confusion.”

He bit his lips, unable to voice the apologies he wanted to pour over her. But to his surprise she pulled him closer.

“I am so sorry, Jack. Had I known… She warned me of her intentions to convince you. When I found you in her embrace, I assumed she had succeeded...” Phryne trailed off.

Jack felt the conversation shift to a dark place that he didn’t want to approach. He cupped her cheek, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Luckily, Miss Fisher, it all turned out for the best. Though you should probably not trust your friend with anything of importance.”

His joke didn’t seem to entirely calm her.

“I will certainly never entrust _you_ to her again,” Phryne whispered angrily. Jack smiled.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Miss Fisher.”

He settled again on his back, pulling her to his side.

“As much as I have enjoyed this endeavour, I believe I’m entirely satisfied with just one woman in my arms.”

She palpably relaxed into his embrace.

“Is that so, Jack?”

“Absolutely, Miss Fisher.”

He gently stroked a lock of hair from her face.

“And there I thought we could have more escapades of the kind,” she grinned against his shoulder. Jack frowned.

“More friends you’d like to introduce me to?”

“Oh, I think some of them you would quite enjoy,” Phryne purred teasingly. “Magda for example is stunning, the most beautiful, full breasts you’ll ever see. Oh, and Serge. His muscles are so taunt, it’s hard to believe without touching them.”

Jack wasn’t sure if to take her seriously, but he was certain he should have been more appalled than he was.

“I believe you are teasing me, Miss Fisher,” he said dryly. She didn’t answer, just smiled, her hand slipping underneath the covers and settling onto his stomach.

“I’m merely pointing out that there are many adventures awaiting us out there, Inspector.”

“Not all of whom have to involve other people I’m sure?”

Her teasing tone dropped.

“We can have them entirely by ourselves, Jack,” she said quietly. “If that is what you want.” He closed his eyes, embarrassing tears rising in his throat. Instead of an answer he pulled her in and kissed her. Her mouth opened readily to him, her taste warm and familiar, the flavour of sleep and love. It occurred to him that he might still taste of another woman. He’d have to go wash his face soon. But not right now. Right now… A cold thought cut through the foggy mixture of warmth and rising arousal. He groaned.

“Oh no.”

“What is it?”

“I’m bound to solve Streeling’s murder before the morning.”

Angrily he threw the covers from himself, sitting on the edge of the bed. In brief words he explained the situation with the commissioner to an astonished Phryne, while he collected his clothing from the floor. When he dared look at her again, he found that she was already dressed. Noting his surprised expression she shrugged and simpered.

“I said adventures, Jack. They cannot all be located in the bedroom.” She pressed a kiss to his lips that held the sweet promise of a later continuation, before she retreated and grinned.

“Now do get dressed, we have to find a murderer.”

 


	2. Off the Cuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I'm off to India, I'll leave you with another round of Phrack's favourite kinks. Apologies in advance for Jack hijacking what was supposed to be a fun chapter. Thanks go to 221A_brina, Just_J and Solitarycyclist for their help in getting this thing on the road.

Heavy rain was drumming against the window, keeping the man behind the desk company. Jack shuffled some paperwork into a pile, then leaned back in his chair and stretched with a quick glance at the clock. Five past two. It would be a quiet night. Even criminals didn’t enjoy wet feet.

Inspector Robinson made a point of doing two night shifts a month. They were as many as he could afford without neglecting his other duties and just enough to convince his men that he was pulling his weigh on uncomfortable tasks. They were also two more than he wanted to do.

The argument that he had nowhere else to be had rung true for most of recent years. Now he did have somewhere to spend his nights more excitingly than in his empty house or an equally empty police station. But then he wasn’t certain if occupying too much of Miss Fisher’s time was furthering his cause of wriggling himself into her life as a permanent fixture.

Jack hadn’t seen the lady detective for a week and when he had telephoned her earlier to clarify something about an engagement they had agreed on for the following evening, she had seemed strangely distant and distracted. He was trying very hard not to allow his thoughts to drift down dark paths, but with the shadows growing and silence settled over the station, his success in the matter was dwindling.

He loved her. There was no point in denying it. More than he could’ve imagined loving anybody after his marriage with Rosie had crumbled. Most days he even suspected that she reciprocated those exact feelings, though she would never say so. Her company was invigorating to him, he cherished every hour spent and their physical relations… he had to rearrange his trousers at the mere thought. There were days when he could forget that they had never talked about a future and just inhale the intoxicating moments of bliss. And then there were days like today, when he felt as if their relationship was nothing but a fragile truce until Miss Fisher would decide to storm back onto the battlefield and leave him behind, bleeding.

He sighed, pushing a pile of paperwork from one side of the desk to the other. There was nothing exciting here, not a shred of crime important enough to grant any diversion. No murder had hit his desk since they had arrested Mrs Finch for killing her lover’s husband. Just piles and piles of old reports to be signed off, files to be archived, a few thefts and drunk & disorderly charges, a series of odd break-ins with no stolen goods. Nothing that could have distracted him from the thoughts spinning through his mind like the horses on a carousel.

Jack rose and opened the window a crack, stretched his sore back until it clicked. Cold, wet night air refreshed his tired limbs. Things would be fine. He would take Phryne to the picturehouse tomorrow night to see a new talkie that had just made its way across the Pacific Ocean. He suspected there would be singing, which didn’t tempt him all that much, but he had heard a rumour that the film was in colour rather than black-and-white, which seemed incredible. Afterwards they might retire to her house for a nightcap and some conversation and… He stopped himself before his mind could drift into erotic musings. While those would certainly provide the distraction he was aching for, sitting behind the front desk with a raging hard-on would simply not do. The curtains of rain still coming down on the station were certainly not encouraging any visitors, but nevertheless someone could storm through the door at any point in time.

He decided to make himself a cup of tea instead. A cuppa, so his grandmother had told him when he had been little and not fond of the bitter liquid, could fix just about anything. If she had ever accounted for a dalliance with an insane lady-detective? Probably not.

When he returned to the desk minutes later, his hand curled around a hot saucer, the door flew open, spitting someone into his office who looked somewhat familiar despite the water dripping from his hat.

“Inspector. You have to come, right now!” the drenched man exclaimed, panting.

“What is it, Mr Yates?” Jack asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance with the red ragger. Cec dragged a deep breath into his lungs.

“Bert and Miss Fisher… are in danger.”

Jack’s heart jumped into his throat. Before Cec had gotten any further the Inspector had already disposed his cup onto the desk, not caring that the hot liquid was spilling over fingers and paperwork equally, and fished for his weapon and coat.

“Come along, no time to lose!” he bellowed, halfway through the door. Cec spun on his heels and ran after him. Moments later the black police motorcar shot through the thick curtains of rain just beneath a speed that Jack felt would turn this excursion into a joined suicide. As he steered them through dark streets, Cec told him the whole story. Miss Fisher, bored with the absence of any criminal excitement, had decided to crack the case of the strange break-ins. She had succeeded in finding the next target and engaged the cabbies to keep her company at a stake-out.

And, of course, she had climbed through a window, in pursuit of a masked man. When the cabbies had waited in vain for their return, Bert had gone after her. Neither had returned to the car.

“That was over an hour ago,” Cec said. “You’re probably thinkin’ me a right coward. But I reckoned it might be better to get you than three of us gettin’ lost in there.”

Jack shot a brief look at the cabbie’s face, which was clouded with worry.

“You have done the right thing,” he said curtly. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t feel capable of comforting the young man right now. Jack could barely speak, his throat was so tight. Miss Fisher, of course, had gotten herself into danger, once again. Reckless, thoughtless woman. By the time they arrived, she might be dead or worse. His worries on Bert were a little more muted, but of course, he didn’t want to find him dead, either. The motorcar shot around a street corner faster than was safe on the slippery cobbles and lost traction for a moment. Without anyone steering, it slipped dangerously onto the other side of the road, spinning half around itself. Jack didn’t take the time to panic. As soon as he could feel the tyres grip, his foot was already pushing down the exhilarator again. A faint movement betrayed that Cec was holding on for dear life. The Inspector bit back an apology along with his anger. Why was it that everybody encouraged Miss Fisher in her reckless behaviour? If something had happened to her… God, he didn’t even dare finish the sentence in his head.

“Here, on the left,” Cec said suddenly. With screeching tyres the motorcar came to an abrupt stop in front of an office building. There were no lights in any of the windows, but on the first floor there was a gaping hole where glass should have been, sharp shards still clinging to the edges.

“They went through that window there,” Cec explained unnecessarily, hastening to follow the Inspector who was storming towards the front door with quick steps.

“Move aside,” Jack demanded. Yates did as told. Moments later an old brown shoe kicked in the front lock as if it was made of cardboard. Side by side the men raced through a stuffy hallway, neither of them saying a word. Their feet clattered awfully loud through the silent house. As they stormed up the stairs, Jack pulled his pistol from his waistband. They reached the top and halted, listened into the silence. There was a faint noise, somewhere.

“Phryne?” Jack called, feeling Cec’s curious glance on himself. Not many people had ever heard him use Miss Fisher’s given name. Right now he didn’t bother to be embarrassed. For a moment nothing happened, then another faint noise sounded in the distance, a small thud as if someone had tipped over a vase. Jack’s feet began to run. Of course, it was possible that he was headed straight for the criminals. He didn’t care.

“Phryne?” he called again. Something like a muffled cry was returned. He was getting close. Breathlessly he stopped in front of a door with the key still in the lock. Someone had been in a hurry. He felt Cec’s breath on his neck while he tried with trembling fingers to turn the key. To his credit the cabbie didn’t comment. Finally the door flew open, revealing Phryne and Bert sitting on the floor, back to back, wrapped in generous amounts of rope, but very much alive. Jack’s knees threatened to buckle with relief. Instead he shoved his pistol back into his pants and crouched down beside his lover to free her. When he pulled the gag from her mouth, she groaned.

“You took your time,” she grumbled.

“If I had known of your plans I might have been faster,” he gave back, not hiding his annoyance with her.

She just rolled her eyes at him. Cec meanwhile had untied the rope binding the two failed adventurers together. Moments later, the mixed group was trotting down the stairs and towards the waiting police car. Without asking a single question Jack was informed of the happening by the conversation flowing around him.

“The bastards had caught Miss Fisher, two of them. Was about to break her out and got clobbered over the head. Next thing I know we’re wrapped up like a Christmas present.”

“There must have been a third one then,” Cec said thoughtfully.

“A sharp observation,” Jack mumbled underneath his breath as he rounded the car. Phryne glanced at him over the bonnet, then climbed in and yawned.

“After this adventure, I am more than ready for bed.”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Fisher. You were involved in a break-in, you’re all coming to the station.”

He could feel her frown, though he could barely see her in the darkness. The rain had eased a little, but the dark streets were still dangerous enough to drive.

“You can’t be serious, Jack,” she said. He only shrugged

“Trespassing is still a crime, Miss Fisher.”

“We were merely following the intruders.”

“Let’s add interference in police business,” the Inspector grumbled. A hand slipped onto his leg in the guise of the night. He didn’t say what he was really thinking. But then neither did Phryne. They sat in stubborn silence until they’d reached City South.

“Come through, gentlemen,” Jack said when they entered the police station. “The interview room is right down the hall, make yourselves at home.”

The confused looking cabbies obediently stumbled down the hallway, Bert grumbling underneath his breath. Phryne’s hand touched the Inspector’s arm.

“Jack, what are you doing?”

“I am following procedure,” he said. “You should try it some time.”

He turned to her, and the way she looked up at him with great, innocent eyes, almost drew a smile from him. He battled down the urge to pull her close.

“You may choose to be a conscientious bore all you please, but surely it’s not necessary to do this tonight?” Miss Fisher said. “Bert suffers a headache from the bump and Cec is drenched to the bone.”

Jack’s eyes darkened.

“Don’t worry, Miss Fisher, I will just ask them for a statement, and then they are free to go home. As are you.”

He brushed off her hand and followed the cabbies to the interview room. After a moment, Miss Fisher followed.

The story was told again, with more details this time. As it turned out, Miss Fisher had not just happened to figure out the case without help.

“There was an address pinned to the calendar when we investigated that break-in last Thursday. It led to a house in Richmond,” she explained.

Jack raised his eyebrow at her.

“I do not recall an address.”

For the briefest of moments she looked embarrassed.

“I may have… slipped it into my pocket.”

He said nothing, just returned his eyes to his report. She continued to talk as if she was trying to cover up a growing wish to make amends.

“The gentleman at the address was very forthcoming, once I had shown myself generous.”

She smirked. The Inspector ignored her, turning his attention to the cabbies. Cec’s teeth were chattering as he told him of their stake-out, Bert throwing in the occasional piece of information. The men had little to do with the whole affair other than having been roped in by Miss Fisher, just as Jack had suspected. He rose.

“Well, I think that’s enough for tonight, gentlemen. Come back in the morning to give a proper statement to Constable Collins,” he demanded as they left.

“I’ll give him a statement over breakfast,” Bert grumbled, almost but not quite out of earshot. Silence fell around the two detectives, Jack leaning with his back against one end of table, Phryne sitting at the other.

“So, have you at least figured out why those robbers don’t steal anything while you risked your own life and Bert’s in the process?” he asked after a long moment.

Phryne grinned.

“It’s not like they don’t take anything. More that the owners are reluctant to tell the coppers what they have lost.”

Jack nodded. He’d had his suspicions.

Phryne rose, circled the table and stepped between his legs. When her palm cupped his face, he was tempted to let his eyes slide shut and give into the warmth of her touch.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he heard himself ask.

“Tell you what?”

“That you intended to set a trap.”

She simpered.

“It seemed hardly worth your time. And I knew you were required here.”

She made a sweeping gesture, then tilted her head with a small smile and looked confused when he didn’t return it. “I wasn’t intending to get _caught_ , Jack.”

He still looked at her, his heart beating heavily in his chest.

“You stole evidence from me,” he said, holding on to a shred of anger with some difficulty. “In order to investigate behind my back.”

She simpered at this, trailing her fingertips over his shirtsleeves. Jack felt the tiny shred slip through his fingers. It was impossible to stay cross with her for long. Left behind stayed the fear which he could never shake. Losing her would break him. And she was so very careless with something so very precious to him.

“Just a teeny bit of evidence,” she purred.

“Still evidence, Miss Fisher.”

She moved closer still, her hands slipping onto his lapels, her eyes the size of saucers and smiled cheekily. He didn’t manage to hide his amusement any longer.

“What are you going to do, Jack? Arrest me?” she asked.

An unfamiliar thought flashed through Jack’s mind. He lifted his chin.

“Don’t tempt me, Miss Fisher.”

She leaned in, her perfume clouding his senses, brushed her lips to his. Her whisper was almost inaudible.

“What if I want to tempt you, Jack? If you clap me in iron, I might learn my lesson.”

He gulped, heavily. Reminded himself where he was, who he was dealing with. She was teasing him and it was never wise to jump onto that speeding train. Jack grabbed her by the upper arms, fully intending to remove her from his proximity and sort his tight trousers. But there was a certain sparkle in her eyes... Something deep inside him snapped like a rubber band. Instead of pushing her away he crashed his mouth to hers. Their kiss was a hot, desperate mess of tongues, lips and hands.

And then, suddenly, something cold. Phryne took a small step backwards, stared in amazement down at her wrist, now encircled by a metal cuff and Jack’s hands, currently securing the second one. He paused, unsure, sought out her eyes.

“As usual your wish is my command,” he said, his voice rough. For a long moment, she just stared at him. He could hear his heartbeat hammering in his ears as he waited for her verdict on his forward behaviour. Then she grinned. The chain of his handcuffs jingled when she reached up to grasp his lapels and pull him into another teeth clashing kiss.

Before Jack knew what was happening, he was panting into her mouth. Her hand had snuck down to the front of his trousers, rubbing him through the thick fabric. His head was spinning. This was not going as he had intended.

With sudden resolve he escaped her grasp and stepped behind her, her cuffed hands now out of reach of anything she could tease and, before she could protest, he had latched onto her neck, his hands wrapping around her waist. A soft groan expressed her agreement with the change of position.

“What is the going punishment for meddling in police work, Inspector?” she asked breathlessly.

“A night in the cells for you and a lot of paperwork for me,” Jack said, his hands roaming her body without restraint. She retaliated by rubbing her butt against him, almost, but not quite provoking a groan.

“Sounds horrid,” she murmured as he unbuttoned her blouse enough to grant him access.

“Did you have something else in mind, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked, one hand still on her breast, the other slipping into the front of her skirt. Her head fell against his shoulder, her breath coming in quick gasps.

“Maybe a more physical approach?” she brought out between moans. She squirmed against him, her butt now very intentionally rubbing against his trousers. Jack knew exactly what she was hinting. He had discovered the book in her library some time ago and not been entirely able to hide his interest in it. But still he hesitated.

A loud groan drew him from his thoughts.

“Shhs,” he murmured beside her ear. “You may have to restrain yourself a little here, Miss Fisher.”

“Make me.”

It was that last provocation that finally pushed him over the edge. Phryne moaned in a mixture of frustration and excitement when he withdrew and grabbed her by the shoulder with gentle force, pushing her forward. Still she seemed surprised when she found herself bent over the table in a very compromising position. He didn’t give her any time to change her mind. With a resounding wack his hand landed on her still dressed butt cheek. Phryne gasped. There was a pause in which Jack feared the world would crumble. He’d never struck a woman in his life, playful or otherwise, and he had very much intended to continue this way for the remainder of it.

Then, she gave a low moan. Jack drew a breath of relief. He finally allowed himself to enjoy the view. Phryne was getting impatient though, squirming on the table. From where she was she couldn’t see him and he didn’t particularly mind that fact. She was laid out in front of him, her cuffed hands holding onto the edge of the table, her rear raised in the air for him to enjoy. Another slap. Not hard, but enough to make her moan. Another, a little firmer. It felt dirty and forbidden and oh, so incredibly hot. There was only one way to improve it.

Carefully Jack reached out, brushed the backside of her knee, just underneath the hem of her skirt. She groaned at the touch, but he wouldn’t be hurried. Slowly, he trailed his fingertips over her stocking, brushing the skirt up in his wake. The edge of her stockings came into view, the knife still strapped to her thigh. Then he touched skin. Her moans were growing louder as his hand slipped up the inside of her leg. He was trembling by the time he reached his goal, rubbed her trough the silk of her undergarments. He wanted her so badly by now it was hard to hold on to a shred of sanity. But no, not yet.

He peeled the silk to the side enough to reveal the soft white flesh of her backside, the small birthmark he loved. He leaned in and brushed a kiss to it as he had done many times before. Phryne squirmed and rocked underneath him. Then he laid a gentle smack on top of it. A moan. Another time his hand came down, harder, making the soft flesh jiggle. Phryne groaned. Her noises were rising in volume and he prayed that nobody would discover them. The cuffed, half naked woman on his interview table would be impossible to explain away.

Inexplicably the thought didn’t dampen his mood. Instead he felt a new wave of arousal wash over him. His hand had found a steady rhythm now, varying only in the places hit and the power used. The formerly white skin was beginning to flush in a gentle shade of pink. He stopped to tenderly trace it with his fingers. Again his hand dipped between her legs where he found satisfying wetness. Phryne ground back against him, her hands clutching onto the table, chain jingling, her breath speeding up. He continued swatting her backside as he teased her. Her hips were bucking against him now, her groans coming in rhythm with his hands. Jack felt sweat pouring down his back, his palm was burning, his wrist sore. Her groans were doing things to him that he didn’t care to explain. It took all his restraint not to rip down her undergarments and have his way with her. He sped up in a last, desperate effort to satisfy her before he would inevitably lose his battle. Her breath caught. Moments later, Phryne tensed against him. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the table, as she bucked back against him. One last smack pushed her beyond her limits. Her cries echoed off the walls. Jack held onto her as she fell apart beneath his hands.

After she had collapsed onto the table he leaned over her, stroking her hair and peppering kisses to her back as she caught her breath. He was still incredibly hard, but the idea of taking her from behind had lost all appeal.

“Phryne,” he breathed after several minutes. She lifted her head with some effort, her eyes still hazy with the aftershocks. Then she smiled. Jack felt a small knot of worry in his stomach unravel. He reached out, helped her sit at the edge of the table. She winced theatrically as her backside touched the wooden surface.

“You are certain you don’t apply corporal punishment on a regular basis, Inspector?” she asked with a grin.

“Quite certain,” he smiled, cupping her cheek. He searched in vain for any shadows in her eyes.

“We had better get you home,” he said quietly. His still hard cock throbbed its protest of that plan, but Jack didn’t feel like he could allow himself any more liberties in this instance. He would have to wait out the night until he could escape to the privacy of his home. He turned, willing himself to walk away from her still flushed, crumpled figure perched on the edge of the table when she called after him.

“Jack? Haven’t you forgotten something?”

He turned. Phryne’s eyes were sparkling as she stretched out her still cuffed hands towards him. He cleared his dry throat, fighting down his embarrassment as he fumbled for the keys. But when he stepped closer to undo her bounds, he found himself suddenly being drawn between her thighs.

“Not the cuffs, Jack. You,” she said, pulling him down into a kiss. The key clattered somewhere to the floor, forgotten. His protest drowned in her hot mouth, her hands already on his fly. All intentions of restraint dissipated with the very her first touch of his heated skin. He threw his head back, world and worries falling away. Her slow, delicious strokes threatened to send his knees buckling and he had to steady himself against her shoulder. Cold metal brushed him, deepening the sensation. Phryne smiled deviously up at him, her lipstick smeared, blouse still unbuttoned and skirt hitched around her hips. He wouldn’t last like this. With gentle force Jack peeled her fingers from himself, catching her head in another kiss. The intense urge to hold her, growing ever stronger since his mad chase through the rain, finally became overwhelming. His arms wrapped around her, pulled her so tight against himself that it appeared he tried to crawl underneath her skin, buried his face in her hair. If Phryne was surprised by the sudden change of pace, she didn’t show it. Her hand grasped for his hip, holding on tightly. She joined them without any build up. For a long moment he just held on, felt her incredible warmth around himself, unwilling to move. Anguished words wanted to spill from his lips, but he held them back.

“Jack?” she asked into his darkness. “What is it?”

He pried his eyes open with some difficulty. Phryne looked concerned and he wanted to ease her worries, but he couldn’t manage it.

“Would you please care to remember, before you throw yourself into the next battle, that your loss would be devastating to me?” he asked quietly. Her shock was undeniable and he already regretted having said as much.

Then suddenly, she pulled him deeper into herself, as if to prove a point. He groaned quietly without tearing his eyes from her features. She touched his cheek, locking the chain around the back of his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere, Jack.”

He pulled her closer yet, if that was at all possible, tears welling which he didn’t care to shed. She held him tightly, her legs clasped around him, rocking slowly against him. In the harsh light of the interview room with its bare walls and uncomfortable chairs, they made tender love on a table usually harbouring criminals. It was the strangest situation, yet Jack had no mind for the irony. He was completely lost. His lips found Phryne’s for a sweet, breathtaking kiss. When they pulled apart, his fingertips stroked a sweaty lock of hair from her face with the tender admiration of a painter who touched a priceless work of art. She looked at him from underneath her lashes, her eyes a soft shade of blue, complete concentration on him. Her thumb gently caressed his neck, then she pulled him closer, whispering something into his ear. Jack looked at her, stunned, then pulled her in for another kiss. Warmth began in the depths of his stomach and spread until it engulfed his whole body. His climax, intense but quiet, his hot lips pressed to hers, was almost an afterthought in the glow filling him to the brim and when he pulled away from her after what felt like an eternity in her embrace, he was still shaking with a feverish joy he couldn’t battle down, no matter how much he wanted to hide it. He carefully lifted her off the table before smoothing out his clothes.

“How I will explain _this_ is beyond me,” he said, gesturing down at the suit, which was creased and showed a suspicious stain near the fly of his trousers. Then he realised that Phryne had disappeared underneath the table.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she called.

“Are you looking for this?” he asked, picking up the key glittering beside his feet.

Her head poked out from underneath the table, then she carefully pulled herself back into an upright position.

“I had better get rid of those or Mr Butler will ask questions,” she simpered, holding up her hands. Jack couldn’t help a smirk at the idea of Miss Fisher wandering into her house in handcuffs. Nevertheless he pushed in the lock and began to unscrew the cuffs. It wasn’t a fast job and gave him time to hold onto her wrist. A last intimate touch, before she would doubtlessly steal out into the night. Something occurred to him. He looked up, found morning light already creep through the window and felt his throat run dry.

“What time is it?” he asked.

She grabbed his wrist, turned it to look at his watch.

“Quarter to six,” she explained happily. Of course, Miss Fisher wasn’t worried about coming home in the morning light. Jack was less thrilled with the discovery.

“Foster begins his shift at six.”

As if on command quiet steps outside announced the arrival of his fellow officer. Phryne turned to look at the door.

“I assume he likes to be early?” she asked.

“Always,” Jack confirmed, looking hastily for somewhere to hide Miss Fisher. He had no desire for any of his fellow men to find her here. The state of their clothes would raise questions he didn’t care to answer. Phryne had already hopped off the table and was now trying the handle on the old window. It hadn’t been opened in years, but now seemed as good a time as any to try and see if it worked. It gave way with an awful creaking noise.

“I shall see you tonight, Inspector,” the lady detective grinned before she hauled herself onto the window sill.

“Miss Fisher,” Jack said, holding out the key to her. She accepted it gracefully with the right hand from which the half-opened cuffs still dangled.

“Thanks, Jack.” She winked. “For everything.”

She jumped down into the alleyway behind the station.

“I expect them to be returned tonight,” the Inspector called after her.

“We’ll see,” she called. “I might plot my revenge.”

Then she disappeared around the corner. Jack was still leaning in the open window with a silly grin on his face when Foster poked his head through the door.

“Morning Foster.”

“Good morning, sir. I thought I heard some noise in here. Was there any trouble last night?”

Jack shook his head.

“It was a very quiet night. I just thought I’d open a window.”

If Foster was at all surprised by finding a crumpled Inspector Robinson grinning out into the alleyway like a madman, he didn’t lose a word about it. Jack whistled underneath his breath as he collected his things and went home for his own bed. He needed some sleep before his date with the picturehouse and whatever else Miss Fisher had in store for him.

 

 


	3. On the Edge

 

 

Miss Fisher climbed from her car, attempting to ignore the butterflies taking flight in her stomach.

The small house lay idyllically in the evening light. A heavy moon already hung above it like a ripe grapefruit. She paused before the iron gate, flinging her long silk scarf back into position.

It wasn’t quite what she had imagined, if she had imagined anything at all. Of course, it stood to reason that Jack had to live somewhere, but she had never paid much attention to where it was. In her mind, Inspector Robinson sat behind his desk at City South or in her armchair, a tumbler of whisky on his lap. He had become a staple in her household by now, often wandering in after a long day at the station with his hat in his hands and an embarrassed smile on his lips, betraying that he thought himself a fool for coming, but had come nevertheless.

Recently a second kind of rendezvous had been added, the official kind where he would telephone and asked for the pleasure of her company to a film or a dinner. Miss Fisher never said no, despite her full calendar. But still a touch of awkwardness accompanied their outings, as if he wasn’t quite certain if his presence pleased or embarrassed her when they were visible in society. She could have set his mind at ease on the matter, but then he’d never asked.

Tonight was different. Tonight Jack had invited her to his house and why that should make her feel like a nervous schoolgirl was beyond her. Miss Fisher had dressed with an extraordinary amount of care, feeling that the right balance was crucial. Too plain might make him feel as if she hadn’t made an effort, too fashionable cause him discomfort in what she suspected was a fairly simple home. As much as she enjoyed the occasional dabble in embarrassing him, tonight she didn’t want the Inspector to feel uncomfortable.

From the downstairs windows, warm light fell onto the path as she walked up to the door, her heart in her throat. Jack opened, dressed in a dark wool suit and her nerves fell away when he smiled.

“Miss Fisher, I’m so glad you could make it.”

There was an odd absence of sarcasm in his voice and she was touched by his genuine happiness to see her. After she’d allowed him to take her coat she finally could indulge her curiosity. Within the last few days she had made up for her former negligence in imagining his home. Now he led her into a small sitting room where a fire already crackled, though it would still be hours until the temperatures dropped to uncomfortable levels. The opposite wall was lined with a large bookshelf. Jack was certainly an avid reader, but she had guessed as much. What captured her attention was a photograph hanging over the comfortable looking sofa.

“My parents,” he explained calmly from where he was pouring them drinks. Phryne decided not to dig further. She knew his mother had died several years ago while he’d also hinted that the relationship with his father was fairly complicated. As she stared at the Victorian couple in their wedding things, she could trace a clear resemblance between the men. Anna Robinson, on the other hand, was not familiar at all.

“She was quite beautiful,” Phryne said, when Jack stepped beside her, handing her a tumbler. He nodded silently and took a sip from his glass.

“I’m afraid dinner is not ready yet. I left work later than intended.”

Phryne turned as he walked through an arc into the kitchen.

“Anything of interest?” she called, inspecting another photograph. It showed a young Jack, framed by two girls, one around his age, the other a little younger. She’d have to ask who they were.

“So far it appears to be only the unfortunate effects of too much liquor on the driver of a motorcar,” the Inspector explained from the neighbouring room. When he returned, he was wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.

“But you know how quickly such things can change, Miss Fisher.”

“Do you suspect foul play then?” she asked, returning his drink to him. He took a deep gulp.

“Mr Albert had a number of very interested heirs to his vast emporium.”

The time until dinner slipped by with discussions of former cases involving motorcars and full glasses of a surprisingly good Scotch. Miss Fisher felt slightly tipsy by the time Jack served dinner.

“This smells divine,” she smiled, after she had settled on the small, round dining table.

“I’m sure it cannot hold a candle to Mr B’s cooking,” Jack said, as he set a plate with roast chicken in front of her. He wasn’t wrong as such. It was a simple dish of the kind Mr B would serve for a Saturday luncheon. But this was Jack, cooking for her, and she savoured the first bite as if it had been prepared by Auguste Escoffier rather than Inspector Robinson.

To her surprise it was genuinely delicious. She looked up to find him look at her with fond eyes, chewing slowly and she smiled, happy that she could praise him without having to tell a word of a lie. He accepted with the gracious air of someone used to people exaggerating the extent of his skills.

“Now, Miss Fisher,” he asked between gulps of wine, “do you have plans for tomorrow?”

She raised her brows at him. She actually did intend to dine with Aunt Prudence, but that could be rearranged without too much pain. What worried her was that he might think it appropriate to make a habit of seeing her daily. That, despite how much she cherished his company, was a little more than she could cope with at this point in time.

They hadn’t had a case since they had solved the odd break-ins and the connected blackmail, so there had been no reason to see him professionally and Miss Fisher had to admit to herself that she had dropped by the station more often than she usually would have, simply to see him. It scared her that she was already planning what fib she would tell Aunt P on the telephone before he had even concluded to propose a meeting.

“Nothing I cannot change,” she heard herself say.

A tiny, boyish smile flitted over her lips that made her want to tear the clothes from his body and ravish him on the dining table. She took a sip of wine to calm those thoughts. They had time until later, surely.

“Would you care to join me for an interview at the station tomorrow morning? Mr Albert’s son is a very… smooth talker.” Jack took another sip from his glass, a shadow crossing his brow. “I don’t trust him and I’d like your opinion on the matter.”   
She simpered to hide both her relief and her disappointment.

“I believed you thought Mr Albert’s death an accident?” she asked for good measure.

“I don’t. But I also don’t have evidence to support a murder case,” Jack explained. “I might need your help, Miss Fisher.”

Somehow this small confession touched something deep and soft within in her soul.

“Happily, as long as I’ll have it in myself to rise...” she said, leaving the implication hanging in the air. Jack swallowed hard, dropping his eyes to the vegetables left on his plate. Phryne couldn’t help herself. She reached out her foot, carefully rubbing it along his ankle. Jack’s breath hitched for a moment, then he continued eating. She grinned. They finished their meal over meaningless chitter chatter, then he stood, collecting the dirty plates.

“Thank you,” Phryne said in a sultry tone, but received no answer. It was almost as if he ignored her attempts at flirtation. That wouldn’t do. She slipped silently to her feet and followed him into the kitchen, where he stood with his back turned to her, sorting dirty dishes.

“Dessert, Miss Fisher?” he called out without turning.

“What did you have in mind, Jack?” she asked, her voice full of silk and promise.

He flinched, spun, obvious surprise etched on his features. She didn’t give him a chance to answer, instead pressed him against the kitchen counter and kissed him thoroughly. When they came up for air, he was flushed, her effects on his body obvious. He reached out a hand, carefully stroking her hair and Phryne almost purred with delight.

“Not quite this,” he rasped, his eyes intensely on her. “Though I am not complaining.”

She peeled his fingers from herself, entwined them with her own, then leaned in to whisper beside his ear: “Show me your bedroom, Jack.”

He gulped, but led her up the narrow stair case all the same. If his living room had surprised her with its cosiness, his bedroom did the opposite. Aside from a large, wrought iron bed in the middle of the room, the mattress covered with a heavy day blanket, little betrayed that someone was living here. He had noticed her hesitation, his thumb now nervously rubbing her fingers.

“I gave Rosie free hand on what to take or leave,” he said with an embarrassed smile. “It turns out she was rather fond of our bedroom furniture. In her defence, they had been a wedding present from her grandparents.”

Despite his upbeat tone the underlying pain was obvious and it occurred to Miss Fisher what he must suffer living in the ruins of his former marriage, daily being reminded of both his failure and loss. But tonight she would not allow him to sink into despair. She turned without letting go of his hand, gently ran fingers through his hair. His eyes slipped shut at the touch.

“We can make do with a bed,” she declared with a cheeky smile and brought her lips to his. When they pulled apart, his lashes fluttered open with some reluctance, eyes now soft and dark.

“Something tells me you are plotting something to my grief, Miss Fisher,” he joked, pressing a kiss to her palm.

“Not grief, Jack. Maybe a tiny bit of revenge.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, while she undid his tie. Despite the warning he allowed her to undress him down to his shirtsleeves without any resistance, watching her every move. Phryne defied any of his attempts to touch her dress and though he seemed disappointed, he didn’t voice any protest until she reached his waistband.

“Miss Fisher, what are you--?” he rasped, when she began to unbutton his trousers.

She put a finger to his lips.

“Trust me,” she smiled. He looked at her as if he was trying to solve a riddle. Then he nodded. By the time she had finished, she was trembling with anticipation, but she restrained herself from touching him. There was something strangely intimate about him standing entirely naked in front of her, unable to hide anything from her roaming eyes. His fingers nervously worked at his sides, but he didn’t move nor leave her out of his sight as she uncovered his bed and peeled back the sheets. Then she fished his tie from the floor and slowly, like a cat stalking her prey, approached him. Jack bit his lip when the silk slipped over his eyes, blinding him.

Phryne took a step backwards to admire her work, but his hand suddenly grasped for her, catching her wrist. It wasn’t a forceful touch.

He was shivering too now, if due to his vulnerability or the evening air creeping through the window she couldn’t tell, but she decided that she had time to admire him later. She carefully took his hand and led him to the bed, gently pushed him down on the edge.

They sat like a couple of adolescents before their very first kiss, she contemplated with some amusement, then thoughts faded away when he reached for her face, framed it with strong hands and brought his lips down on hers, kissing her gently. Phryne’s fingers painted along the muscles of his chest, slipping over his naked arms as she allowed herself to entirely melt into his embrace. She doubted she’d ever grow tired of this body underneath her hands. It was such an unfamiliar notion that she had to repress a groan.

When she brushed her lips along Jack’s jawline, down to his neck, a delightful moan was her reward. His hands were blindly roaming her back, but made no attempts at unhooking her dress. His honour overruled even his desires, a fact that woke mixed feelings in her. Before she knew it, they were lying on the bed, their limbs entangled in a knot of Georgian proportions. Jack made use of the senses she had left him with, feeling and tasting her as far as the fabric allowed. That would change soon. She rolled on top of him, straddling him and he moaned at the friction, digging his head into the pillow. Phryne grinned. Revenge was so very sweet.

She rolled her hips against him, briefly taking his breath away and while he was still in the grasps of bliss, she peeled the scarf from her neck and slung it around his wrist with skilled fingers. Whatever he may have been thinking, he didn’t protest and she wove the scarf through the bedframe, then tied his other wrist to it without a hint of resistance from her Inspector.

She leaned in, brushing her lips to his.

“I promised you revenge, Jack,” she teased, “and I am a woman of my word.”

Truthfully she knew that, had he shown the slightest discomfort, she would have to immediately untie him. Which would have been a shame entirely. He was breathtaking, sprawled out helplessly on the bed, for her to do with as she pleased.

“This doesn’t feel like handcuffs, Miss Fisher,” Jack rumbled, but there was no doubt that he found her game arousing rather than offensive. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Iron chain and silken cord are both equally bonds,” she smirked, gently biting his neck. Jack’s groan vibrated against her lips.

“I do not think this is the time for Nietzsche, Miss Fisher,” he protested once he could breathe again.

“There is always time for literature, Inspector. And seeing that you are little tied up, we are in no particular hurry.”

She leaned in further to lick the shell of his ear. Jack gasped at the sensation. Phryne smiled. Then she whispered: “We have all night, Jack. And I intend to make very good use of it.”

His breathing grew heavier in response to her threat. She slipped off him, watched him squirm on the bed while she undid her dress and kicked off her shoes.

“Phryne?” he asked, when impatience and anxiety grew too intense to ignore.

“Shhs, Jack. I’m just rolling down my stockings,” she explained. He licked his dry lips but calmed. Her knife was placed on the small, wobbly bedside table, just in case. It wouldn’t be the first time it was used to cut bounds, though usually of a more malicious kind. Then she settled back on the bed, gently pushing his thighs apart with her knees. He groaned at the touch of her warm skin against his.

It was astonishing, she thought to herself while she ran gentle hands over his thighs, feeling the muscles twitch underneath her fingertips. Jack Robinson was a thoroughly capable man, used to controlling whole rooms and most of all, himself. It had taken so many attempts to lure him over the threshold into her dangerous embrace that she had at times been tempted to give up entirely. And yet… He lay still now, only his chest rising and falling rapidly, waiting for her to make her next move. He trusted her completely. It was an odd feeling that rose from her stomach through her chest, spreading through her body. She didn’t recognise it immediately.

Then she leaned in and carefully wrapped her mouth around him. He arched his back at the sudden warmth, pulling on his bounds. Her stomach flipped at the sight. Without tearing her eyes from him she deepened her attentions, while her fingers caressed all warm skin they could reach. His breath grew ragged within moment. She could feel it in the tension of his muscles, the rapidity of his moans. His climax, after all the anticipation, would come hard and fast. It was so very tempting. She sped up her rhythm, sucked him deep into her mouth, over and over, her fingers wrapped around him. He bucked up against her. She felt his muscles tighten underneath her as he reached the sweet moment right before...

She stopped.

Jack gasped. Groaned in surprise, disappointment, maybe relief. She couldn’t tell. She brushed small kisses over his stomach while his breath slowed.

“I happened upon Sofia Morelle the other day,” she said conversationally. “At Aunt Prudence’s dinner party. The one you avoided by pleading work engagements.”

Her fingers lazily trailed over his chest, momentarily halting at an old bullet scar.

“You do remember Sofia?” she asked, when he didn’t answer. Jack wet his dry lips with his tongue. 

“I’d be hard pressed to forget, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne smirked. He hadn’t mentioned their menage a trois with a word since they had snuck out of Aunt P’s house that night. But she had a suspicion it was a memory that had burned itself into his soul. 

“I shared a thought or two with her on the subject of deceit,” she continued, her nails gently scratching over his chest, just past a nipple. His breath hitched for a moment, but he didn’t stir. 

“I’m sure you are a great teacher in that regard,” he said, his voice strained. She tilted her head, not completely disregarding his point, then crawled on top of him, her silk clad breasts brushing over his chest. He was holding his breath. 

“She may have taught me a trick or two in return for our forgiveness.”

A small smile played around his lips.

“Did she now?”

“Would you like me to demonstrate? All you have to do is ask.” 

She closed his mouth with a kiss before he could give an answer of any sort.

Her hand wrapped around his cock while she  deepened the kiss, stroking him slowly. By the time she  lifted her head he was panting  again ,  his hot breath washing over her cheeks. 

“What will it be, Jack?” she asked.

“Anything you want.”

It was even less than a whisper which spilled from his lips between quiet groans. But she would take it all the same.

She tightened her grip on him, her fingers now massaging his heated flesh in a mesmerising rhythm, the tip of her tongue circling a nipple. She didn’t have to wait long to see the effects. His breath quickened, his limbs thrashed underneath her, chasing release. Every muscle in his body tightened as he struggled to hold on, in expectation of the wave to crash down on him. Phryne waited for the exact moment to use the little sleight of hand Sofia had described. For a moment she feared she’d missed the point of no return. Jack arched his back, tensed, his breath coming rapidly. Then he sank back into the pillow, hastily drawing air into his lungs.

Phryne rolled off him, snuggling into his side. The skin under her fingers was covered by a thin film of sweat. For a few moments they lay in silence, her fingertips idly running over a scar near his navel.

“Is this your entire plan?” Jack rasped out once he could manage words. “To drive me to distraction?”

Phryne smiled, her head bedded on his heaving chest.

“I’m cruel only to be kind, Jack.”

She trailed along the muscles of his arm while he came down from his high enough for her to continue her slow torture. This time she began to kiss every inch of his skin beginning at the soles of his feet. By the time she reached his face he appeared ready to burst, writhing breathlessly under her ministrations. His formerly crisp sheets were damp with sweat. Jack’s hands had gripped onto the wrought iron curls of the bedframe, searching for some control. As she trailed her tongue down his neck, he raised his chin to allow her better access. The adam’s apple bopped helplessly against her mouth while she drew a symphony of passionate sounds from his throat. A gentle bite into the tender skin added a gasp to the melody. Part of Phryne by now was eager to end the game and get her own share of Jack, but she restrained herself. There was something so unspeakably erotic about him thrashing against bounds and frustrated lust that she didn’t want it to end just yet. She licked down his collarbone, fingernails scraping over a nipple. His groan went through her like a knife through warm butter. She’d have to have him soon. But first…

He threw his head back when she touched him. A few skilful twists and he was pushing into her hand, ready to finally reach the edge, skin flushed, breath laboured, every muscle rigid as he arched off the sheets. Mercilessly she pulled him back, causing him to cry out in frustration.

Jack fell back onto the bed, his teeth dug into his lower lip, his knuckles white where they were wrapped around the curls of iron. He looked like he was in pain and for a brief moment Phryne felt guilty. Carefully she brushed her hot lips against his and he hungrily kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough. Then she retreated, leaving him ever more exasperated.

“Fuck,” he breathed, trying to regain his senses. Phryne couldn’t repress a groan. The Inspector didn’t swear often and whenever he did, it felt incredibly filthy. She leaned in, brushed a kiss to his forehead, where pearls of sweat glittered. In sudden resolve she pulled the tie from his eyes. Though the room was merely dipped into the half-shadows of a bedside lamp, Jack blinked into the light. It was hard to say if the blindfold or his arousal were responsible for his eyes to be almost black when he looked at her, but the expression in them was clear: he needed her, now. And he was prepared to beg if he had to. The thought was tempting, but Phryne resisted. His dignity was more precious to her than he would ever know.

By now she was aching to take care of his desires – and her own. Phryne sat back on her heels and Jack twisted as far as his restraints allowed him, his eyes glued to her. She pulled her camisole over her head slowly, aware that he was watching her every move. When the rest of her undergarments slipped onto the floorboards, his eyes were already devouring her naked body with unconcealed greed. Phryne smirked. Her thumb trailed along his jawline, traced his lips. Something akin to a whimper answered her. His eyes fluttered shut when her hand moved lower, palm slipping over his neck. A heavy heartbeat pounded against her fingers here, betraying that, though Jack lay still at this moment, he was in no way calm. For a brief moment her hand tightened around his throat and her own heart skipped a beat when he groaned loudly in response. She would have to explore this at a later time. Unhurriedly her hand slipped further over his skin, stroked and teased, soon joined by the rest of her. And though Jack’s body betrayed that he was more than ready for her, he made no attempts at hurrying her. Instead he lay back, his fingers now woven through the white silk of her scarf, his chest heaving with repressed desire as he endured her sweet torture. When she finally climbed on top of him, he arched his back in a silent moan, causing her stomach to flip. Phryne waited for him to open his eyes and look at her before she moved her hips.

She fucked him slowly, aware that he was burning for release, but not yet ready to end it. He felt so good, but the quality of his breathing told her that he couldn’t last. She paused, leaning down to kiss him, stroke his hair. To her astonishment he began to squirm underneath her, pulling on her scarf.

“No, please,” he rumbled against her lips. “Please, don’t stop.”

Phryne felt her breath hitch at his quiet plea. New arousal flashed through her body, but she obediently rolled her hips and he groaned into her mouth, bucking up against her. She pushed herself up on his chest, fell into his rhythm, harder and faster than she had intended. A few more minutes went past in quiet, frantic entanglement of their bodies. Then almost suddenly, he was thrashing against his bounds, making the bed creak. Her hand slipped on the sweaty skin of his chest, clutched onto his shoulder as he drew ever closer to the edge. Something sparked in her brain, like fireworks. She needed to know. Slim fingers loosely wrapped around his throat as he climbed the last metres to the zenith. Jack gasped, his thigh muscles tightening as he slammed up inside her. Then his eyes rolled back into his skull, his whole body went rigid, hands clenching into white silk. Phyrne watched on in proud awe as he shattered, wave after wave of ecstasy rolling through his body.

After what felt like an eternity he sank back, gasped for breath. She had slipped off him, wrapping his trembling body into a tight embrace.

“All right?” she asked quietly beside his ear when he did not speak even after several minutes.

He nodded, pulling carefully against her scarf. She understood, released him with just a few grips of her talented fingers. Jack carefully moved his aching arms before pulling her close. Phryne kissed his shoulder. Still, he hadn’t uttered a word. His silence worried her. Nervously she let the scarf slip through her fingers.

“I believe not much can be done for this any more,” she said as her thumb brushed over one of the tears in the fabric, resulting from heavy mistreatment. There was a pause.

“Apologies,” he rasped. She wasn’t sure if he was joking or seriously concerned, until a small smile betrayed him. “I’d be happy to replace it, Miss Fisher, if it eases your mind.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Jack,” she mumbled, snuggling into his chest. His arm came to wrap around her tighter, her leg now slung over his thigh, where a sticky mess slicked his skin.

“I should go clean up,” he mumbled, but he didn’t stir and she made no attempts at releasing him from her grasp. They fell asleep tightly wrapped together.

Miss Fisher awoke in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar bed. Moonlight threw shadows through the cool room, her still naked body protected from the night air by a heavy blanket. She stretched her stiff limbs, where still the residues of desire were buzzing. She had never gotten around to finding her own release and briefly wondered if Jack may have recovered enough to indulge her, when she realised that she was alone.

Something leaden settled in her stomach as she crawled out of from underneath his sheets. She didn’t bother with her crumpled dress, instead fished the first item from a chair she could find, buttoned it casually as she slipped down the dark stairs. A small light fell through the crack underneath the door to the sitting room.

She paused with her hand on the handle, wondering what he may be up to. But she was not truly surprised when she pushed in the door to find him sitting on his sofa by the now cold fire, wrapped in striped percale pyjamas, with a book on his lap. When he heard the door creak, he looked up, warmth sneaking into his expression.

“Here you are,” she stated, completely unnecessarily.   
“I did not mean to wake you,” he said. “I should’ve have known better than to assume that I could hide.”

She grinned, then stole into the room before her legs could begin to shiver in the cold night air. As she slipped beside him onto the sofa, he finally took in her appearance.   
“I believe those are my shirtsleeves, Miss Fisher,” he said in a strange tone of voice. Phryne smiled.

“So they are.”

She picked at the starched fabric and smiled at him. It was certainly not the height of fashion, but there was something intensely intimate about wearing a man’s clothes which she had never taken into consideration. Apparently Jack was thinking along similar lines as he averted his eyes in embarrassment and fished for a cup resting beside him.

“I hadn’t truly taken you for a cocoa drinker,” she said once he had taken a gulp.

“Not quite,” he answered, offering the drink to her to investigate. Phryne sniffed into the white liquid, then brought it to her lips. The taste of honey and nutmeg mixed with a sharp edge of brandy on her tongue, mellowed by the milk.

“My grandmother’s recipe for sleepless nights,” Jack said. The melancholy in his expression didn’t escape her.

“Do you require it often?” she asked.

“More often than I care to.” He paused as if not sure if to proceed. “The silence grows deafening at times.”

She thought about this.

“I can imagine,” she answered quietly.

Phryne hadn’t lived by herself in many years. There had always been servants, friends, family, or random strangers. As a child she had sometimes wished for space, for somewhere to be alone in their tiny, cramped cottage in the heart of Collingwood. Jack was an intensely private person. She couldn’t imagine he’d thrive in some of the places she had lived, with the neighbours on her lap and no peace until the early hours of the morning.

But she could also tell that he was lonely. Her heart grew heavy at the thought that when he left her parlour, her house full of people and laughter, he returned here to sit alone by the fire with only a book for company.

Even in evenings when Jack could be convinced to join her upstairs in her bedroom, he hardly ever spent the night. Sometimes he’d fall asleep in her arms and sneak away at the crack of dawn to return home for a wash and a change of clothes before his working day begun, but more often he didn’t stay that long. Phryne had wondered at times if to be insulted by his regular escape into the night, but she had chosen to put it down to an early confession that he didn’t sleep well in strange beds. As it turned out, he didn’t sleep well anywhere at all.

She surfaced from her contemplation to find him studying her earnestly over the rim of his cup and raised her eyebrow in a silent request to share his thoughts. He drained his milk before he complied.

“I find your addition a vast improvement to my sitting room,” he admitted. Phryne couldn’t help but smile. “If a dangerous one. Particularly dressed like this,” he added after a moment.

Something in his expression had shifted, brought a familiar heat back into his gaze. She smirked.

“Shall we… head upstairs?” she asked, but he silently shook his head and took her hand to pull her closer. Phryne was surprised when he latched onto her neck, but certainly not stopping him. His hand was already slipping up her thigh with intent, brushing up the cotton. He drew a deep breath when he realised that there was absolutely nothing else she was wearing.

“I intended to wear those shirtsleeves in the morning,” he breathed, gently pushing her back onto the sofa. Phryne let her eyes fall shut as she sank into the soft pillows, his breath ghosting over her stomach.

“I’m not stopping you, Inspector.”

That was the absolute truth. She did nothing at all to keep him from kissing the tender skin around her navel before moving lower. In opposite she encouraged his sinful doings with soft groans and fingertips massaging his scalp as he went to work on making up for his earlier negligence. His tongue was skilful and familiar, if anything more assured than usual, and mere minutes passed before she felt the white fire build inside her, rush her senses. When she came down from her violent climax, panting, his head was lying on her stomach, hand on her thigh, carefully tracing her trembling muscles. She stroked his hair in silent gratitude. Miss Fisher had had many lovers, good and bad, but none quite like Jack Robinson.

“We will have to go shopping,” she said into the comfortable silence. He hummed in confusion, pulling himself up enough to look her in the eye. She’d almost grinned at his expression, but managed to suppress it.

“Well, Jack, now that I am to stay here more often, your bedroom does need to be a little more functional than it is at present.”

She lost the battle, a broad grin stealing onto her features.

“And a little more pleasant to spend whole nights in,” she added, her finger mercilessly dishevelling his hair further. He licked his lips, hiding badly how her words affected him.

“Anything you want, Miss Fisher,” he finally said and smiled.

It was a careless promise given at a time when promises should not be made - they both knew that she would absolutely hold him to it.

 


	4. Jack's Magic Flute

Inspector Robinson checked his watch as he hastened up the stairs two at a time, his heart in his throat. His jaw clenched in annoyance. He was _late_.

Jack had already been donning his dinner jacket when two suspects had begun a fight in the entrance hall and after they’d been separated and locked in the cells with assistance of four different officers he’d been already late for his evening plans. Then a horse cart had had collided with a motorcar in Flinders St right before his eyes. Though luckily nobody had been injured, including the disturbed horse, that had been another 15 minutes of his precious time and finally finding his destination had turned out much trickier than expected.

He smoothed down his overcoat as he pushed open the door. Polished marble floors and emptiness greeted him, waking in him the desire to spin on his heels and leave again.

“Good evening, sir,” a gentle voice said, an elderly man extending a hand towards him. “How may I be of service?”

Jack gulped heavily. He had no ticket. In fact he had fully intended to be here in time to not require one. He battled down any urge for flight and straightened his back.

“Miss Fisher is expecting me in box 14,” he said stiffly. To his surprise a patient smile appeared on the man’s face.

“Certainly, sir,” he said, again extending his arm. The penny finally dropped. Jack shed his overcoat along with his hat and some embarrassment.

“Pascal?” he man called, and moments later a tall, lanky waiter appeared seemingly out of nowhere, carrying a silver tray with dirty glasses.

“Would you be so kind as to show Inspector Robinson the way to box 14?” the elderly man requested. The young boy glanced at the man, then sat down his tray on an antique oak sidetable with obvious annoyance and pointed up the stairs. “This way…” A stern look by the other man caused him to add: “...please, sir.”

The elderly man nodded gently to himself and disappeared with Jack’s outerwear into the back while the other two stumbled up the marble staircase. Soft music flooded down the steps as they drew closer, but instead of using one of the grand, thickly padded doors, Pascal led the way to another staircase. By the time they had climbed two more two flights of stairs, sweat was pouring down Jack’s back, dampening the fabric of his shirt. Finally they stood in front of a nondescript wooden door right at the end of a hall lined with many more, the No 14 painted on it in golden letters. Jack caught his breath and smoothed down his hair, wishing for a moment to compose himself before he entered, but Pascal had no such plans. He’d already knocked and now ripped the door open with not a break for anyone to answer. Jack stepped forward into a world filled with plush and orchestra music, entirely unprepared. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realised that the chairs in the back were empty. Only one figure sat near the balcony, her back turned to him.

Jack approached slowly, his heart beating ridiculously hard against his ribcage.

“Miss Fisher,” he nodded as he sat. The chair was so soft, he thought it might absorb him. 

“Inspector,” she smiled, briefly looking up.

“Apologies for my late arrival, I was held up,” he added in whisper, wondering if she was at all annoyed.

“Never mind, Jack” she said lightly, ‘I’ve kept your seat. But you have just about missed the overture.” 

“A terrible shame,” he replied dryly. 

He wasn’t sure which opera she had picked, but she was well aware how he felt about singing  in his evening entertainment , so this appeared a deliberate attempt at torturing h im . 

“Have you ever seen ‘The Magic Flute’ before, Jack?” Phryne asked, when the orchestra’s music reached its crescendo and the curtains opened. 

“Can’t say I have.” 

He tried to get comfortable for what he feared would be a tedious couple hours. How long could an opera last? He’d heard rumours of some stretching over days, which seemed extreme. Surely, Phryne couldn’t expect him to spend all night here? A glance at her concentrated face brought him no more information other than that she was smiling, happy with herself. With a somewhat miffed expression, Jack stared down at the stage, where a young man in pretty clothes currently screamed his head off as he was chased by a ridiculous snake made of tattered cloths. Three women rushed to the aid of the troubled youth. Jack glanced at Miss Fisher who appeared absorbed. Of course, she would pick a story where a poor man had to be saved by women. While the actresses sang about unconscious boy’s beauty, the Inspector took the time to take in his surroundings. They were indeed alone on their balcony, right underneath the domed ceiling and not just that. The neighbouring box was hidden from sight behind a pillar, with thick, scarlet curtains further protecting them from view, the audience room too dark to even make make out the opposite boxes. Though he could hear the quiet rumble of whispers, the crackling of sweets being freed from wrapping paper, the rustle of clothing, they were utterly alone in the world. An odd excitement prickled along his spine. 

So what if they were forced to sit here for hours? There had been times where the chance of sitting quietly in the company of Miss Fisher would have drawn him through a rainstorm. In fact, he feared those times hadn’t ended. Jack nestled back into his incredibly comfortable chair and turned his attention back to the stage, where the women had disappeared, making room for another actor in a hideous feather costume. The music was actually rather good… Something else occurred to him as he listened to exchange between the men. He could understand, though it wasn’t English. His German was not what it once had been, but he could grasp enough of the singing and dialogue floating up to them to follow what was happening and a strange suspicion forced its way into his brain. Could Miss Fisher have actually intended for him to… enjoy this? 

The onset of another aria caused his thoughts to  quieten . 

“Did he… just fall in love with a picture?” he whispered. 

“Some men are easily satisfied,” Miss Fisher quipped. “Others are a little harder to enamour,” she added with a smile at him, her hand sneaking onto his lap and grasping his hand. Jack glanced at her, wrapping his fingers over hers, and returned his attention back to the stage. Something odd was happening. The music took him on her wings and swept him away, the colourful customs lost their silliness. He found himself being irresistibly drawn into the glittering world of the fairy tale, the adventures of Prince Tamino searching for his love. Love in stories never appeared to be easy.

Just as the prince finally reached Sarastro’s garden and began playing his magic flute, Jack felt Phryne’s hand move. It was a tiny shuffle which could have been mistaken for an adjustment of her hand. He swallowed down a gasp as her thumb brushed against him through his trousers. He attempted to ignore her, he truly did. The music was beautiful and for once in his life he wanted to see the end of a play without anyone dropping dead or being forced to race away to a case. But as the stage filled with people, she grew more persistent, having abandoned all pretence of accidental contact. His body was rapidly responding, drawing his attention from the stage.

“Phryne,” Jack hissed between gritted teeth, wishing her to stop before he would inevitably lose his head entirely. She just grinned into the darkness, crossing her legs to lean ever closer towards him. As she did her silvery dress slipped up over her knee and an idea sparked in Jack’s mind.

Before he had even come to a decision, his hand had already ventured underneath her dress. Phryne gaped at him for a moment, but then returned her attention to the performance as if nothing had happened. Her own hand in his lap was growing frantic and Jack let his eyes fall shut to indulge in the sensations, thinking of the many, many people out there in the darkness, knowing nothing of the delicious secret they were harbouring up here. An almost soundless groan escaped his lips before he could stop himself and her hand tightened around his cock. Phryne was squirming in her seat now, making it hard for him to hit the right spots, but her breath was also quickening. She wasn’t far and how they would manage to not draw attention to themselves when she lost it was beyond his imagination. Miss Fisher tended to be quite vocal during orgasms. Jack smiled to himself, intensifying his rhythm. A shift of her grip caused him to gasp. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, breathing slowly, trying hard not to come in his trousers.

Suddenly the light flickered on, voices rose downstairs. He stared blankly down into the moving audience while his breath slowed. The curtain had fallen without him noticing.

“Intermission, Jack,” Phryne’s hoarse voice came to his ear. Her hand slipped from his lap and he gave a small moan at the loss, but carefully retreated his own fingers, wiping them on his handkerchief.

“Maybe we should...” he gestured at the door.

“Make our escape?” Phryne smirked. “Good plan, Jack.”

She rose, he followed after sorting his trousers. When he arrived in the hall, however, Phryne was already talking to a tall, handsome man, pulling an exasperated face at the Inspector. Jack raised his eyebrows at her. In the same moment someone shoved a champagne coupe into his hand.

“Oh, you must be Inspector Robinson,” a woman trilled, “Phryne told me soo much about you.”

He turned to see a skinny woman of about 50 beside himself, her blonde hair covered by a glittering hairnet that threatened to blind him. Before he’d had a chance to answer, he was dragged towards the group rapidly forming around Miss Fisher.

“Jack, have you met Dr Phillip Lester?” she asked as he arrived, barely hiding a roll of her eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” the Inspector said, shaking one hand before the next. A never ending stream of people seemed to be collecting around them. He caught Phryne’s eyes and she looked so utterly frustrated underneath her smile that he could barely suppress a grin.

“May I introduce Miss Walters?” another man’s voice asked beside him. The rest of his longwinded explanation drowned in the chitter chatter around them. A pretty, petite redhead looked up at the Inspector. 

“How do you do,” Jack said, her hand already in his. She had a firm grip and a knowing glimmer in her brown eyes that made him wonder if she looked right through his wish to escape the charade. He released her hand, realising that he’d held on a moment longer than was reasonable.

“So, Inspector, are you enjoying the opera?” she asked, sipping on her drink. Phryne had disappeared somewhere between glittering dresses and dark dinner jackets.

“I rather do, actually,” he heard himself say. “Though the creator of those costumes may be in need of glasses.”

“And possibly a smidgen of taste,” Miss Walters smirked, bringing the glass to her lips without taking her eyes of him.

Jack’s unconscious hand fished for his bow tie, tugging on it. He felt like he was going to melt into his suit, sweat soaking into his dress shirt, the unreleased pleasure still buzzing through his veins like a beehive.

“At least the musicians seem to be masters of their craft,” he provided. A raised eyebrow answered him.

“You are a music lover then?” she asked with a cheeky smile.

“Not much of an expert, I’m afraid. I tinkle a little bit on the piano,” Jack admitted.

“I see,” she returned, swapping their glasses without so much as an effort against full ones, her eyes dropping to his hands. “Lovely fingers,” she added after a moment. “Perfect for the piano, I suppose.”

Her lashes fluttered in what was undeniably a flirtatious matter. Jack cleared his throat, feeling a flush rising from his neck as he remembered where his fingers had been no more than quarter of an hour ago.

“I... suppose so,” he mumbled. “If you’ll excuse me…”

He turned, fought his way through the wall of people to where he suspected Miss Fisher was surrounded by more people desiring her attention. He finally reached her just as she took a brief break to sip some champagne. When she spotted him, her face lit up.

“Time to break loose?” he asked just loud enough for her to hear. He turned, raised his glass at the skinny lady, who he now knew went by the name of Mrs Grant, then dropped his voice further. “I am losing the battle against the urge to tear your clothes away, Miss Fisher. And I believe we might cause a scandal if I reach the point right here.”

“Tempting, Jack,” Phryne smiled, disposing of her glass. Then she grasped his hand firmly in hers. Coat covered backs parted to betray that the redhead was still watching him. The smile around her lips hadn’t changed. The Inspector had no time to ponder what that meant, Miss Fisher was pulling him through the thicket of opera guests towards the marble stairways, nodding and smiling at several people who were trying in vain to begin a conversation as they passed. Jack’s heart was already beginning to speed up again. In a minute they would be sitting in her Hispano. He could almost feel the sensation of cool night air brushing through his hair…

“Shoot,” Phryne said underneath her breath, stopping suddenly.

“What is it?” he asked, but she already spun on her heels in an impressive manoeuvre.

“The big man standing right at the top of the stairs. Lester Higgin.”

“He doesn’t appear all that scary,” Jack remarked.

“Don’t look at him. If he spots us, he will begin a conversation and he will not be prevailed upon to stop.”

“The interval must be almost over.”

“He is more likely to follow us into our box than to cease a conversation he finds entertaining,” Miss Fisher brought out between gritted teeth. “You might have to throw him off the balcony.”

“A murder of passion then?” Jack said, unable to hide his smile at her vexation. He’d never witnessed Miss Fisher being scared of anyone, let alone all but hide from a conversation partner. It was oddly endearing.

“He’s coming our way,” Phryne said, ignoring his joke. “Retreat!”

They hastened in the opposite direction and didn’t stop until they were stood in front of the door with the golden 14 again, just as the bell rang for the second act.

The noise was instantly muffled as the door closed behind them.

“A lucky escape,” Phryne sighed.

“Not quite the one I was hoping for, Miss Fisher.” Jack admitted, looking at her flushed features. He cupped her face and brought his lips to hers. Downstairs the noise of hundreds of feets clattering over floorboards marked the return of the audience returning to their seats.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little while longer to rip my clothes away,” Phryne said against her lover’s hot lips. Her eyes had the glazed expression he knew.

“I’ll be holding on by the skin of my teeth,” Jack rumbled, running his lips along her jawline. Her quiet moan caused him to shiver. The light dimmed, wrapping them in darkness. The hall fell silent, filled with glittering anticipation. Music set in, just as Jack’s mouth found Phryne’s breast through the barricades of dress and slip. A hard nipple was pressing through the thin fabric. She threw her head back with a quiet moan when he flicked his tongue over the nub, her hand weaving into his hair.

“This might not be the way to keep our dignity,” she brought out between gritted teeth.

“Fuck dignity,” Jack said hoarsely. The dam broke, whatever had held them back vanished into thin air. Moments later they tumbled against the wall, locked in a passionate kiss, his hands desperately pulling at her dress. When he couldn’t find the hooks, he simply peeled it up to press himself between her thighs. Her moan drowned in his hot, urgent mouth and the beautiful melody drifting up to the balcony. Her hands were fumbling with his buttons, shuffled silk and cotton alike. And then he was inside her and all he could feel was her incredible heat.   
He almost collapsed against her, trapping her against the wall. 

Hush,” Phryne whispered, herself not exactly silent and he almost wanted to giggle. He remembered the people, all those well dressed, respectable people out there in the excited darkness and for a moment Miss Walters flashed in front of his eyes, with her flaming hair and the sparkling brown eyes. If she’d knew what his fingers could do she’d blush as well. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she’d known exactly what they could do.

Phryne graced his hands with an approving half-groan and he grasped her thigh harder to slam into her, his fingertips slipping under the edge of her stockings. God, she felt heavenly.

Her teeth had found his neck and Jack struggled to stay quiet, his insatiable desire for her threatening to spill over his lips with every thrust, every brush of her mouth. He held on, somehow as they rocked against the wall in a frantic search for release. She was growing heavy in his embrace, her leg wrapped around his hip in a death grip, pulling him deeper into herself, her open mouth pressed into his neck, every silent grown washing hot over his skin. He wanted to satisfy her, but his hand was getting twisted in ways that were far from erotic. Phryne groaned in disappointment when he struggled out of her embrace, withdrawing and setting her down to her feet.

“What…?” she began to ask, but was cut of by a loud groan, when his hand slipped back between her legs. Jack closed her mouth hurriedly with his. An aria swept over them, covered up her quiet grunts at the working of his hands. His neglected cock pressed against her stocking-clad thigh while he stroked and teased her. Phryne was leaning against the wall, watching his face with a small smile from underneath hooded lids. She reached out for his hip, pulling him closer to sensually rub him against the silk. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, breathing slowly. His whole body was buzzing by now, he didn’t feel he could take much more of her teasing. But he was adamant he would not ruin her dress nor his trousers.

Voices carried up from the stage, a man complaining about a woman robbing him of his sanity. The Inspector felt he knew this notion exactly. As he was thinking it, Phryne’s hand fisted in his hair, pulling him into a kiss, her breath now coming hard and fast. Her groans were growing louder, but as if by magic, the next aria came to her aid. It was a coloratura soprano, which Jack would have admired at any other time for it’s intricate beauty. Right now, relief flooded him as Phryne fell into the singer’s staccato, her hips rolling against his fingers, chasing relief. He didn’t have to wait long before she threw her head back, her scream blending into the singer’s voice as she tensed against him. His hip involuntarily jerked against her thigh, his cock so hard it was unbearable.

Before she had completely regained her senses, he’d lifted her again, thrust inside her while the last spasms of her muscles ebbed. She clutched onto his shoulders, her eyes closed, as he took her against the wall, hoping to finally find his own relief. Moments later, to his astonishment, she tensed again, her teeth burying themselves into his shoulder in a muffled cry. He had not breath nor mind to question it, but paused to give her a moment’s respite. Her mouth found his in a hot, gentle kiss. When she pulled away she had the far-away look of bliss he’d come to know over the last months.

“Fuck me,” she said quietly. Hot lightning shot along Jack’s spine at the sound, drawing an involuntary groan from him. He obeyed, one hand clutching onto her thigh, the other resting beside her head on the wall. Several floors lower, the Queen of the Night had finished her temper tantrum and made way for quiet dialogue. Neither of the entangled pair cared, wrapped in their own world in the middle of a hundred other worlds.

Somewhere in the haze of arousal clouding his brain it did occur Jack that the patrons in the next box might be privy to their laboured breathing; that the occasional moan slipped over their lips; that someone with good eyes might be able to make out the movement of their entangled bodies. The idea that anyone could spot them left him lightheaded. Sweat was slicking his body, his shirt ruined. Phryne held onto him so tightly it seemed she wanted to meld him into her body, her legs were wrapped around his hips, pulling him deeper inside herself with every thrust. He held back a desperate groan as he buried himself inside her to the hilt. Stars danced in front of his eyes. Then her lips brushed his ear and he lost the battle.

“Hush,” Phryne murmured. “They’ll hear you.”

Jack pressed his lips together, desperately trying to not to make any noise, but it was getting harder with every thrust, every stroke of her hands. He felt like his body was made of dry firewood. The tiniest spark would set him aflame, he just wasn’t certain which one it would be. He found out a moment later, when her tongue trailed down his neck.

A loud gasp announced his defeat, irresistible heat rushed through him, every fibre of his body vibrating in rhythm with the quiet melody. He buried his head in the crook of Phryne’s neck in order to not scream his orgasm into the world. Then his trembling knees gave way, crashed them both against the wall. Her hand came to stroke his sweaty hair as they sank to the floor in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs, exhausted and panting. It took some minutes for him to regain his breath and for his heartbeat to slow. He had no words, just brushed a silent kiss to her wrist. She smirked at him, with that satisfied look of having undone him, once again. He wasn’t complaining, just pulled her into his arms and held her until he could feel his legs again. Music washed over them, he suspected that the second act was nearing its climax. A tiny bit of disappointment stole into his heart for having missed the better part of it.

“I was thinking, Jack,” Phryne said, sweeping a sweaty lock of hair from his forehead. “I might want to actually see the opera. How is tomorrow night for you?”

He opened his mouth but realised that his voice wasn’t working. He swallowed dryly, then cleared his throat.

“I think that could be arranged, Miss Fisher,” he finally managed. For a while neither of them said anything, only restless hands stroked and caressed tenderly and mindlessly while they listened to the music.

“Oh, just one more thing, Jack,” she finally said, her voice having returned to her usual cheekiness.

He hummed what could’ve been a request for elaboration. She grinned.

“Could you attempt to be on time tomorrow? I wouldn’t want you to miss a thing.”

 

 

 


	5. Breathless

He was sitting in her parlour as if he belonged there. Miss Fisher’s heart pointed out that he _did,_ even before the thought had reached her conscious mind. It was a grey Sunday morning. Rain had drummed against the windows all night and as the day had dawned it had become apparent that it had no intention of changing its tune. Dorothy had taken an early tram to church in sensible shoes and a thick raincoat. Mr B had chosen to use a cab to take him to the market, which he rarely did. There were just the two of them and Jack was sitting in her parlour as if he belonged there.

The tray between Miss Fisher’s hands, holding a coffee pot and a tray of freshly baked shortbread, was growing heavy as she stood in the doorway, but she was not yet tired of watching him read a book, flicking over pages in concentrated silence.

It was the first night that he had stayed, with no duty and no excuse to draw him away from her. Maybe it was the rain, maybe that she had spent three nights in his house over the last two weeks, not bothering to leave until he’d already been at the station twice, sleeping long after she’d felt him kiss her goodbye. On the third morning he had remained curled up with her, then made them pancakes which had turned black on the stove as they had… gotten distracted. On the kitchen counter. She smiled at the memory.

As if he’d felt her thoughts he looked up. There was a flicker of something in his eyes which could have been worry. Then he smiled. She returned it as she sashayed into the room, sat down the tray and poured him some coffee. He accepted the cup carefully, laying the book aside, title down. Miss Fisher took a glance at the slight blush about his neck, but gave him a moment’s respite before she picked up the novel and raised an eyebrow as she read the dust jacket.

“An interesting choice, Jack,” she said, laying it back down, the right side up **.**

“Merely research, Miss Fisher,” he said smoothly.

A tiny grin gave him away.

“I see. Did you find the subject of your studies enlightening then?” Phryne asked, pouring milk into her coffee.

Jack took a sip of the dark liquid before answering and looked her in the eye, pupils already wide with what were probably some rather indiscreet thoughts.

“Very much.”

Phryne didn’t answer, just slipped onto the love seat, where she idly played with her scarf without taking her eyes off him. A flash of recognition flashed across his features and he gulped heavily. Miss Fisher grinned. She’d rather anticipated some reaction by adding this piece of clothing, but the flush currently spreading over his cheeks was rather more exquisite than she could have hoped.

“Did Miss Williams succeed in rescuing the scarf then?” he asked after clearing his throat. Phryne gently stroked the white silk.

“Nobody could tell the difference, Jack,” she said in a husky tone that didn’t seem to calm him at all. To her surprise, he dropped his gaze to his cup, took another hasty gulp.

“I am exceedingly glad to hear it,” he mumbled without looking at her.

Well, this would _not_ do.

She was about to begin an attack on his suddenly rediscovered virtue, when he looked up, something in his eyes changed. He didn’t immediately speak, but the way he kneaded his hands on his lap as if battling with himself, glued her to her seat in anticipation.

“There is a question which I have been meaning to ask for some time,” he finally said.

“Oh?” Phryne asked.

“I...” he played with his fingers, visibly embarrassed. Then he turned his eyes to her in sudden defiance. “When Lavinia died in Geo… Sanderson’s office...” She noted the slip of his tongue, the flash of pain the mention of his former father-in-law brought, but he forged on after only a moment’s pause. “I recall you were speaking of the possibility that the rope around her neck had… erotic motives?”

Phryne nodded, her heart pounding in her ears. She rather suspected she knew where this was headed and she found herself beyond intrigued.

“Some people do find pleasure in their breathing being restricted, Jack,” she said gently when he didn’t continue. He chewed his lip.

“Are you experienced in the matter?” he asked, breathlessly, as if going through huge effort in bringing out the words. Phryne smiled.

“Somewhat.”

Then she looked more serious.

“As exhilarating as it may be, Jack, strangling can be a dangerous game.”

She caught his eye. He looked thoughtful but not as if this was a revelation to him.

“I know,” he said after a pause. “I can read, Miss Fisher.”

There was a pause as Phryne studied his face.

“Mac?” she asked.

He tilted his head.

“She may be slightly confused why I needed reading material on a strangulation victim that never graced her table.”

“She will get over it, I’m sure. Though she might think you’re cheating with another coroner.”

Phryne couldn’t help but smirk into her cup as she pondered this. Of course, Jack wouldn’t come unprepared. How silly of her to assume he would.

“Did you know that London used to have a gentlemen’s club whose inhabitants had nothing on their side but the ability to apply just the right pressure to a man’s neck to not kill them in their throes of ecstasy,” she asked.

Jack smiled wryly.

“I will not ask how you know such things, Miss Fisher.”

“The ladies were very obliging teachers,” Phryne smirked. He dropped his eyes again, but the smile remained in place.

There was a pause in which they both drank their coffee in silence.

“Would you care to… see for yourself?” Phryne finally asked bravely. She knew the answer, but she had to be sure.

“I...” he paused, squirmed in his seat, “...believe I would.”

He didn’t dare look at her and she watched him for a long moment, listening to the blood rushing in her ears. Then, in sudden resolve, she stood, stretched out her hand to him. He took it without a moment’s hesitation and a thrill ran down her spine when she realised that they were actually going to do this.

His hand was hot and sweaty in hers, but his grip firm as he allowed her to lead him upstairs. When she, however, had shut the bedroom door behind him, he stood awkwardly, unwilling to make another move. Phryne’s heart sank a little. He had lost his nerve, it was obvious.

“I will not allow you to get hurt, Jack,” she said simply. Then she brought her mouth to his. There was a small delay in his reaction, the slightest resistance in the stiffness of his back. It couldn’t last under the onslaught of her lips. His arms pulled her closer, his excitement already obvious as the proof pressed against her thigh. She moved them backwards, slamming his back into the wooden door. His breath caught in surprise. It turned into shock when her slim fingers wrapped around his throat, pinning him to the door. There was no actual pressure to her grip, but she saw the arousal flash through his eyes all the same.

She’d had her suspicions, ever since that first memorable night in his house, but this was not something she was willing to push onto him. At any time.

She leaned in, replaced her hand with her mouth, her palm slipping to the side of his neck to hold him still. His groan vibrated against her lips. Phryne never grew tired of tasting the tender skin here, driving him to insanity with just a few flicks of her tongue. But today they had other plans. She retreated, watched her effect on him. Jack was already flushed and rumpled, all signs of propriety had dissolved underneath her touch. He looked decidedly delicious, which, while no surprise, still managed to take her breath away.

Carefully she reached out, ran her fingers through his hair, then down his neck. His arm still held onto her tightly, his breath laboured. Nevertheless his fingers had began to slowly unbutton her blouse. Her hand slipped down over his shoulder until she had reached his wrist.

“Are you certain?” she asked, as she grasped his hand, peeled it off the fabric. A tiny nod answered her, his eyes not leaving hers. She led his hand to her shoulder.

“If you want me to release you, tap,” she said quietly. There was no answer, he just looked at her with dark, intense eyes. “Remember, Jack,” she urged.

Another nod.

Phryne took a deep breath, chased away sombre memories and tried to embrace the excitement rising from the bottom of her stomach, like silvery liquid, slowly engulfing her whole body. It had been years since she had indulged in this particular game and she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise in anticipation. Jack had returned to his work of undressing her and she hurried to catch up. His coat hit the floor within seconds. When she slipped the tie from his neck, crossing the ends briefly, he moaned quietly in the back of his throat. Her stomach flipped, her fingers growing impatient. Jack’s were trembling as he peeled her blouse open, slipped his hand inside to stroke her breasts. She gave herself into his touch for a moment before she kissed him, her fingers continuing to strip him. Jack’s waistcoat posed little resistance, but the suspenders gave her some difficulty. After a long moment he groaned in impatience, shoving her fingers aside to help her. Moment’s later his hands had returned to her trousers, slipped them off her hips without evening bothering with most of the buttons. His hands were growing frantic, as if he couldn’t rip the clothes off their bodies fast enough, his tongue still wrestling hers eagerly. Finally his shirtsleeves were open, she detached herself long enough from his lips to lick a hard nipple between her teeth. When she bit down gently his hand fisted into her hair with a groan. Phryne grinned against his chest, but he pulled her back up to continue his attack on her lips, crashing her hips hard against his. His urgency surprised and pleased her equally. His muscles were taut underneath her hands as she finally rid him of the last layers of clothing. Her chemise had also done a disappearance act, merely her stockings were left and a white silk scarf, which he had thoughtfully left untouched. She grabbed his wrists, pinned them beside his head and once against attacked the sensitive skin on his neck. The husky growl slipping over his lips should’ve been forbidden, it did things to her that Phryne was fairly certain were illegal. 

Her mouth ran along his jawline before settling on his. Jack’s kiss was hot and intense, expressing in unmistakable terms how much he wanted her. Which was not a notion she was inclined to argue with. In sudden resolve Phryne released his wrists and slipped her scarf around his neck. Jack’s eyes fluttered open. Miss Fisher grinned, gently tugging on the scarf. He smiled,  reaching out for her, but she took a step backwards towards the waiting bed. Jack understood, but crashed his lips down onto hers again with out stopping  t he i r movement. Phryne spun them just in time. They fell heavily on the doona, the bed creaking underneath their combined weight and she came to lie on top of him, smirking. 

H is mouth captured her nipple, sucking it into his mouth. Phryne groaned, heat pooling between her legs, where his hard cock rubbed against her. His hands had settled on her hips, holding her tightly. She pushed herself up on his chest, ran her fingers through his hair. 

Jack suddenly looked fragile, lying underneath her, looking at her with  soft, dark  eyes. Before she could change her mind, she knotted the scarf around his neck. Jack drew a sharp breath at the sensation, his eyes falling shut. 

“Look at me,” she whispered. He bit his lip, but complied. She didn’t tell him why she needed him to. It wasn’t important, nor was the fact that she had contemplated for the last 20 minutes which knot to use. From this moment on, he was her sole responsibility, a fragile treasure she needed to guard with every fibre of her being. She leaned down to kiss him while she joined them. He groaned, rolling his hips to meet her, then attempted to rise to deepen the kiss, but the scarf, the end now firmly wrapped around Phryne’s palm, held him back. He gasped when he met the resistance, falling back into the pillows. She watched the knot tighten around his neck, his chest heaving, already glittering with sweat. Phryne began to slowly move on top of him, every fibre vibrating with the sensation. He was hers. Completely. 

Jack’s eyes were black in the  morning  light, his  fingers slipping up her sides to touch her, caressing her back, running along her spine. His  hands were  familiar by now, yet she could never  seem to  get quite enough of  him, as if  he was water in a desert she never knew existed.  But today she  could not allow herself to fully fall into the sensations  and let  them wash her away. And God, how much she wanted to. 

A  twist of her hips caused him to throw his head back into the pillow, his sensitive neck exposed where the innocent looking scarf was resting tightly against his skin now. Phryne tugged a little tighter while she picked up speed. His breath quickened, his eyes closed to  indulge in all the sensations. 

“Look at me,” she demanded, quietly. It took a few long moments before she felt her words sink in, then his lashes fluttered open. The sight alone almost pushed her over the edge. The lust in his eyes was breathtaking.

“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” she whispered against his lips, then kissed him deeply, taking the last of his breath away. When she retreated, he was gasping for air and she loosened her grip on the scarf. His breath settled a little. She carefully wiped a sweaty lock of hair from his face without moving her hips, wordlessly asking him questions. He nodded slightly, his fingers slipping up her thigh as she picked up speed. Moments later they found their goal and she gasped at the sensation, her hand tightening around the white silk. Jack’s eyes were glazed now, his breath coming in sharp staccato, his hips furiously bucking against her. Phryne ran sharp nails over his chest, teased a nipple. He threw his head back, but moments later his eyes opened again, looking at her. Phryne smiled. The heady sense of her power mixed into her growing lust. 

Jack’s fingers tirelessly teased her as she fucked him harder, sweat pouring down her back,  his dark eyes  boring into her , his hands, everywhere,  driving her higher, higher… She felt the heat build in the depths of her stomach, rising like a vulcano’s eruption in slow-motion.  With a last gasp everything bec ame  molten  fire and ice. 

Through the fog she heard a hoarse, muffled scream and she surfaced in time to see Jack’s throwing his head back. Her fingers barely working, she somehow managed to released the knot just in time for the rush of oxygen to mix with the wave of his orgasm before it crushed down on him, burying him underneath it. While he still rode the wave, she collapsed onto his chest. It rose heavily underneath her as his breath slowed, his heartbeat strong in her ears, calming her. 

“Dear God,” he finally breathed. Phryne said nothing, just wrapped their hands together, interlocking their fingers and brought his to her lips. His arm came to hold her and she let him, feeling exhausted. 

“Phryne?” she heard him whisper, his hand stroking her hair. She nodded into his chest, too tired to answer. She felt his eyes resting on her, but didn’t stir. 

Miss Fisher didn’t know how long they’d been lying there, but his arm never ceased to hold her and his hand tirelessly stroked her hair. Eventually he shifted a t iny bit underneath her and she realised how heavy she must have grown.  With an excuse on her lips she slipped off him, pulling herself onto the edge of the bed and fishing water  from a waiting tray . She drank greedily, suddenly her mouth too dry to speak, then refilled  the glass .  Jack ’d lifted himself onto his elbow, now idly stroking her shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, a tiny smile lighting up his face. 

“Drink,” she returned, extended the glass to him. He obeyed.

There was a pause  while she  watched his  A dam’s apple bob as he swallowed, looking in vain for any bruises  or marks on him. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

“I’m sorry if it wasn’t all you were hoping for,” she finally said lightly. His brow knitted into a complicated pattern.

“What makes you say that?” Jack asked carefully.

Phryne looked at him, his  eyes soft, his  confus ion clear , and suddenly the heavy feeling in her chest fell away. 

“I was holding back,” she explained quietly, climbing into bed and allowing him to pull the covers over them while she snuggled into his chest. 

“Oh?” he asked as she rested his head onto his arm.

“I told you, it is a dangerous game,” Phryne explained, her fingertips stroking a tiny dip a bullet had left near his heart. Too close for comfort. “Never entirely without risk.” 

“And when has pending doom ever stopped you, Miss Fisher?” Jack quipped. She looked up at him with big, dark eyes and his cheeky grin mellowed into a soft smile.

“Since it is _you_ at risk, Jack,” she said, matter-of-factly. For a while neither of them said anything, they just held each other, deep in thought.

“I know you do not wish to hear tales of former lovers,” she said quietly, but he made no attempts at stopping her. “But there were… accidents.” 

“Did..?” Jack licked his dry lips. “Did they die?” 

She shook her head.

“There were some close brushes. It’s part of the game, Jack. In a tango with death, death sometimes wins.” 

“I see.” 

He looked  serious  now and Phryne didn’t have the heart to tell him that it hadn’t always been her lovers dancing.  S he suspected he knew  the truth all the same.  His eyes were b u rrowing into her  now  with an expression she knew. Fear for her. Jack Robinson could have a noose around his neck and still worry about her. She would have laughed, but felt too tired  for such exercise . 

“For what it’s worth,” he finally said, his voice softening. “I thought it... breathtaking.”

She searched his face for any signs o f a lie , but found none. Only a small, blissful smile  lit up his features. Somewhat satisfied that they had survived  this tightrope act  without any casualties, Phryne snuggled against his chest where his heart still beat warm and familiar.  His fingers wove through hers and his lips pressed a soft kiss to her fringe. 

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked into the darkness behind her lashes.

“I don’t know,” Miss Fisher admitted quietly. “But I guess wherever we want, Jack.” 

 

 


End file.
